Lady Jemima is mine enemy, though I know she would not own herself so. She persecutes me, as my Lady says, because I think for myself instead of following her. As for my Lord, I care not so much for him. Well, I could do nothing that night—so much was plain—and the next day might bring cooler councils. So I looked in upon my child, as I usually do the last thing, and then said my prayers. I know not whether I did entirely forgive Lady Jemima, but I know I tried faithfully to do so. I confess I cried myself to sleep, but I did go to sleep at last, and slept well, with sweet dreams of walking in pleasant green fields, in good company. Methought that a deep river seemed to divide us for a time, which I could not cross because of the child who was with me, but at last, I know not how, my Lady brought us together again, and then, taking Betty by her hand, she smiled lovingly upon us and seemed to float away. I awoke not a little comforted, though 'twas but a dream. I thought I would do nothing good or bad till I saw my Lady, so I dressed Lady Betty, as usual, (though she has learned to help herself a great deal,) heard her say her prayers, and gave her her breakfast. I then went to my room for my workbasket, where I met my Lady. She looked pale and tired, but greeted me kindly, as usual, and asked me some questions about Betty's lessons. I answered her, and added that I had thought it best to go on as usual till I saw her and received her commands. "You have said nothing to Betty, I hope?" said my Lady. I told her I had not. "That is well!" said she. "Margaret, have you the patience to let matters stand as they are for a few days, and do nothing?" "Surely, my Lady, if you desire it," I answered. "I would do more than that for you." "I know I ask a good deal," she continued. "I know the position is a painful one, but I hope things may be mended." "My Lady," said I, thinking it was time for me to speak, "I can bear all things for your sake and for Lady Betty's. I have been turning the matter over in my own mind—I mean what chanced last night—and truly I see not what I could have done differently from that I did. Mr. Prynne is my kinsman, and, as I said, he has been kind to us; and had my dear father taken his advice, it would have fared the better with us at this time. I would not have spoken unless I had been called upon, but being so called upon, it does seem to me that I should have been base and ungrateful not to speak up for my cousin." My Lady sighed. "I know, Margaret. I do not blame you. I know my Lord was somewhat hot and hasty, and he was provoked with Mr. Penrose for his uncalled-for words." Somewhat hot and hasty, indeed! But he is her husband, and, as I once heard dear father say, a woman must be somewhat more than an angel to be just where her husband is concerned.