The Bishop's chaplain read prayers without any of the extravagant gestures of devotion which Mr. Penrose is apt to use, but as my father used to do, and with a voice so full, so musical, and withal so devout and reverent, that it was a pleasure only to listen, and would have been had he read in a foreign tongue. The Bishop spoke a few words of exhortation on a text from the Psalms. When prayers were over, I whispered Lady Betty to sit still till Thomas came for her. As I stood by her, partly screening her from observation, the Bishop drew near. He was talking with my Lady, and at first did not see me, but presently turned round, and smiled as his eye met mine. "Will you not present me to your little daughter, madam?" he said to my Lady, who presented Lady Betty, and then me, in due form. He sat down by the child, and spoke kindly to her, asking her if she loved coming to church. "I like it very much," answered Betty, who does not know what shyness means. "I never came before, and I asked mamma to let me to-night, because I wished to see you, and hear you." His Lordship smiled, and said it was a pretty compliment. "But I think you would like to come every day, would you not?" "Yes, when my back does not ache," said Betty, "but I wanted to hear you because Margaret told me about you, and how kind you had been to her and her mother. I love Margaret, and I love everybody that is kind to her." "Why, that's well said, my daughter," returned the Bishop. "You do well to love Mistress Merton, who deserves your regard. I doubt not but she is a good governess, for she has been a dutiful daughter, and a kind sister, as I know." These praises were very sweet to me, and all the more as Lady Jemima stood by and heard them. She looked very scornful, and presently asked the Bishop, rather pointedly, if he knew my kinswoman, Mistress Felicia Merton. He looked surprised, and said he believed he saw her in church with the family, but that was all. "No doubt she was cleverly kept in the background," murmured Lady Jemima, not so low but I heard her, and so did the Bishop also, I am sure, from the way he glanced at her, as he said: "My first meeting with Mrs. Merton and her brother was purely accidental and fortuitous. I came across them in the church, and having been uncivil enough to listen to their conversation, was so much interested in it as to desire to improve the acquaintance. I had afterwards some dealings with their mother in the way of business, and now I think of it, I saw a young gentlewoman, whom Mistress Merton presented to me as her husband's sister. If I mistake not, your mother told me she was not going to remain with her." I told him no, she had gone to live with an aunt in London, Mrs. Willson by name. "What!" said his Lordship. "Not my old acquaintance Mrs. Willson, widow of the bookseller and stationer, living near St. Paul's church-yard?"