"Except the words of the man that was hung, Miss." "Poor wretched criminal! Do not let us talk or dwell on such scenes. I will go and see Mary, if you will show me the way." "Indeed I will, Miss, and I'm sure it will do her good. She's in her own room." And, guided by the other, Amy went. Mrs. Hopkins sat by the side of the bed on which Mary lay, worrying and fretting herself to death, as her fellow-servant had said, and refusing to be comforted or calmed. "Ever ready to do any one an act of kindness, Miss Neville," said Mrs. Hopkins, as she rose on Amy's entrance. "This is sad work." "Yes; it is an anxious time for all of us, but it is surely not wise to give way to imaginary evils, which after all may only exist in our own brains and foolish fancies." "No one knows," sobbed Mary, "how I love my father." "We all believe it, Mary. Do you know that your mistress's husband is also gone with the rest?" "No one has threatened his life, like they have my father's." "But will your crying remedy that? Will it not make things a thousand times worse, by making you too ill to see him when he does return?" "He may never return, Miss, never!" sobbed Mary afresh. "It's of little use talking, Miss," said Mrs. Hopkins, "she will cry and worry; and nothing will stop her that I can see. She will be sorry and ashamed enough to-morrow when she thinks of it." "I think she should hope the best, and not so readily look forward to the very worst that can happen. Try and think that there is a good and kind Providence watching over us all, Mary." "I do. But it's no use Miss--no use." "Here drink this, Mary," said Mrs. Hopkins, handing her some salvolatile, "It's no use talking, Miss, we must dose her." "I believe it is the best plan," replied Amy, half smiling; then as the girl sat up to drink it she added, "If you must cry, Mary, why not go down below? you can cry just as well there, and watch for the men's return." "Oh! I daren't, I daren't--" she said. "Her father will be quite frightened when he does see her face," said Mrs. Hopkins, as she bathed her forehead with cold water, "and as for her, she won't be able to open her eyes to look at him they're that swelled." Amy seeing her presence could do no good, left, and went to the school-room, intending to spend the rest of the evening in writing home, but she found the attempt useless, so she closed her desk and put away her pen in despair. Reading was better than writing, she would fetch a book. She glanced at the bookshelves Charles had made and put up for her but a few short months ago. He was nothing to her then; simply Mr. Linchmore's brother, but now?--Again she grew restless. Why would her thoughts so often wander towards him? He could never be more than a friend, never! She would go below. The gloom and solitariness of the room struck her more forcibly than it had ever done before, and she grew nervous and timid and stole away to the drawing-room.