"I should not like it at all, and I won't have it!" said Betty. Then gravely, as if reconsidering the matter—"Unless she will marry Walter, and live at Corby-End. That would be very nice, I think, don't you, papa?" My Lord gave one of his great laughs, kissed her again, and calling her a wise little maid, put her down on the bed, and pulled out of his pocket I know not what expensive toys in the way of scissors, needle-cases, and the like, telling her that he had bought them for her yesterday. Then saying he must go and look after his guests, and giving my ear a parting pull, he went away, leaving Betty happier than any queen. "What did Aunt Jemima say?" asked Betty, after she had found out that I had not seen the babes, and making me promise to take her to her mother as soon as possible. "I don't know that she has heard yet," I answered, my conscience smiting me, as I remembered my own words to her the night before, and the look she had given me. "I will go now and tell her." I tapped gently at Lady Jemima's door, but as no one answered, I ventured to open it and look in. Lady Jemima had not been to bed all night, and now crouched on the cold floor before the little altar in her closet, pale as death, and with eyes swollen with long and bitter weeping. She started up as I entered, but did not speak. "Good news, madam!" I said, cheerfully. "The best of news!" And then I told her what had happened. "Is not my sister dead, then!" she asked, in a strange, bewildered way: "I thought I had murdered her. You said so!" "I was angry and said what was very wrong, and I beg your pardon," I answered. "My Lady is like to live, I hope and trust. Madam thinks she is doing well, and also the surgeon, who is come just in time to be too late." She threw her arms round my neck, and burst into hysterical sobs and cries. I got her into her chair, and supporting her head, I soothed and quieted her as well as I could, till she was in some degree herself again. "You heap coals of fire on my head, Margaret!" said she, when she could speak. "But you did not come here to triumph over me, did you?" "God forbid!" said I, earnestly. "I came but to bring you the good news, and to ask your forgiveness for my wicked words last night." "They were true words!" said Lady Jemima, hastily. "I had the spirit of a murderer, if not toward my sister, yet toward you. I could have killed you, Margaret!" I did not ask her why. Poor Lady! I knew well enough how she felt I had injured her. I only said: "Dear Lady Jemima, I never meant to harm you!" "I know it!" said she, bitterly. "You never did harm me. If you had never come near the place, it would have made no difference. It was my own insane vanity and passion. I have been a wicked woman, Margaret—a wicked hypocrite, condemning and judging others, when I was far worse than they: but mine eyes have been opened this night, and I have seen myself as I am!" "I am not so sure of that!" I said. She looked at me in surprise.