“Indeed, madam,” she said, “I would lief you could truly call me such, but when young Miss came here first I took her for one of that flighty sort that it is wise not to meddle with more than needful. I have kept my place here these thirty years by never making or meddling, and knowing nothing about what don’t concern me, and is out of my province. Now, I wish I had let the poor young lady be more friendly with me, for maybe I could have been of use to her in her need. “You had no suspicion?” “No, ma’am; though I find there were those who suspected some one came up here disguised as Jumbo; but I was never one to lend an ear to gossip, and by that time I trusted the dear young lady altogether, and knew she would never knowingly do aught that was unbecoming her station, or her religion.” “I am glad the dear child won your good opinion,” said Betty. “Indeed, ma’am, that you may say,” returned Mrs. Aylward, whom anxiety had made confidential; “for I own I was prejudiced against her from the first, as, if you’ll excuse me, ma’am, all we Bowstead people are apt to be set against whatever comes from my Lady’s side. However, one must have been made of the nether millstone not to feel the difference she made in the house. She was the very life of it with her pretty ways, singing and playing with the children, and rousing up the poor gentleman too that had lived just like a mere heathen in a dungeon, and wouldn’t so much as hear a godly word in his despair. And now he has a minister once a fortnight to read prayers, and is quite another man--all through that blessed young lady, who has brought him back to light and life.” And as Betty’s tears flowed at this testimony to her sister, the housekeeper added, “Never you fear, ma’am; she is one of God’s innocents and His Hand will be over her.” Meantime, having dismissed the young lover to take, if he could, a much needed night’s rest, the Major was listening to Mr. Belamour’s confession. “I was the most to blame, in as much as an old fool is worse than a young one; and I would that the penalty fell on me alone.” “If she be in my cousin’s hands I cannot believe that she will permit any harm to befall her,” said the good Major, still clinging to his faith in Urania--the child he had taught to ride, and with whom he had danced her first minuet. “What I dread most is her being forced into some low marriage,” said Mr. Belamour. “The poor child’s faith in the ceremony that passed must have been overthrown, and who can tell what she may be induced to accept?” “It was that threat which moved you?” said the Major.