"'Where there is a will there is a way,'" said she. "If your heart were right, you would not mind a little inconvenience. I will give you a book of devotions, which you will do well to use, and which will do you more good than all this Puritan stuff!" giving my Lord's volume, a contemptuous push from her. I was nettled to see her treat the volume so, and said, I fear rather sharply: "'Tis no Puritan stuff, my Lady. It was writ by the Bishop of Exeter, and I am sure he is a good man, besides being a Bishop." "It is not the rochet that makes the Bishop, or the title either," said Lady Jemima. "An open enemy is better than a half-hearted or treacherous friend. Your Bishop Hall is no better than a traitor, I fear. How do you like Mr. Penrose?" "Well enough," I said. "But his preaching and services—how do you like them?" persisted Lady Jemima. I was rather confused. I said I was not used to that way of reading or speaking, and that Mr. Penrose's sermons seemed to me not very clear. I could not make out what he would be at, and it seemed to me as if he did not quite know himself. "That is a very improper way of speaking," said Lady Jemima, with great sharpness. "You should know that it is not your place to sit in judgment on a priest. You would do much better to learn in silence and humility, than to carp and criticise." I felt my face flush at her tone and manner, which were very severe, and even contemptuous, and I answered, quickly: "You asked me, my Lady, and if I speak at all, I must needs say what I think. I have no desire to criticise bishop, priest, or deacon, unless I am asked." It was now Lady Jemima's turn to color, and she bit her lip, as if she did not quite know what to say. "You are malipert, mistress!" she said, at last. "I came to do you a kindness, but this is not encouraging. I will leave you this book, however, and I hope before I see you again, you will have come to a better mind." And with that she rose, and laid a book on the table. "I beg your pardon, my Lady, if I have displeased you," said I, seeing that she was about to go. "I meant no offence." She seemed mollified, sat down again, and began giving me a lecture on my religious duties, as that I ought to spend so many hours a day in reading and devotion, that I should learn by heart the seven penitential psalms, and say them every day, and so on. "But, my Lady," said I, "if I were to do all that you have laid down for me, I should have no time for my duty to Lady Betty, which is my chief business, and for which my Lady keeps and pays me." "You should serve God first of all," said she, solemnly: "no matter what other interests may suffer. How do you expect to go to heaven unless you give up your whole life to God's service? The work of the longest life may not be sufficient to secure your salvation, and yours may, for aught you know, be very short. You may die this very night!"