"I should, if I had any, madam," I answered: "but I think I have none, or at least only one," I added, thinking of Felicia. "I am that one, I suppose!" said she. "No, madam," I answered her. "I was not thinking of you." "Pray for me, nevertheless!" said she, her face growing pale and sharp, as if with some hidden pain, and with that she went quickly away. I could not but wonder at her words, but she is always unlike other people, so I did not think so much of it. I said my prayers, not forgetting to pray for the poor lady, and then, as my books were heavy to carry in my pocket, I bestowed them, as I thought, safely in a corner of my usual seat, little thinking what a scrape they were going to bring me into, and went about my business. The weather was gloomy and lowering all day, but the sun shone out bright and clear about half an hour before its setting, and Betty, taking a fancy to go out, I wrapped her up and took her into the garden, on the west side of the house, which is warm and sheltered in the afternoon. Here she played about awhile, talking to Dick Gardener, who is a great ally of hers, and gathering a nose-gay of late flowers for her mother. When, just as I was thinking that we must go in presently, I saw Lady Jemima coming down the steps toward me. As she drew near, I saw that her face was white with passion, and that she had my two books in her hand. She came close up to me, and holding them up before me asked, in a voice which trembled with anger: "Where did you get these books? Whose hand is this in the beginning?" Then, before I could speak, she added: "Tell me no lies, wench! This is Walter Corbet's hand!" I was cool in a minute. I saw that the time had come, and that I must hold mine own with her, and if possible keep her from disturbing my Lady. "I do not mean to lie—why should I?" I said. "It is Walter Corbet's hand, and he gave me the books!" "And you dare to tell me so!" said she, turning paler still, if that were possible. "You receive love tokens from Walter Corbet—you!" She caught her breath, and stood looking at me with the utmost scorn and abhorrence in her face. "We shall see what his mother will say to such treachery, my dainty mistress—'his beloved Margaret,' forsooth! I will tell her what an honor is in store for her, and what a fine intrigue her pure-minded son is carrying on under his cousin's roof!" "You will tell her no news, and there is no intrigue in the case!" said I. "I am Walter Corbet's betrothed wife, with his mother's full knowledge and consent, and also with my Lady's!"