Edward Hughes, the brother of the sisters so frequently mentioned, had bid adieu to Westerbury for ever. Whether he had at length become sick of the condemnatory comments the town had not yet forgotten to pass on Martha Ann, certain it was, that he had suddenly sold off his stock in trade, and gone away, en route for Australia. For some little time past he had said it was his intention to go; the two sisters also had spoken of it with a kind of dread; but it was looked upon by most people as idle talk. However, an opportunity arose for the disposing advantageously of his business and stock; he embraced it without an hour's delay and was already on his road to Liverpool to take ship. The town could hardly believe it, and concluded he was gone to escape the reflections on Martha Ann--although he had shown sufficient equanimity over them in general. People needn't bother him about it, he had been wont to say. They should talk to the one who had been the cause of the mischief, Mr. Carr's fine gentleman of a son. "What a blow for the two sisters!" exclaimed Mildred. "What will they do?" "Nay, my dear, they have their business," said Mr. Arkell. "I don't suppose their brother contributed at all to their support. On the contrary, people say he had been saving all he could to emigrate with." "I don't know that I altogether alluded to money, Uncle George. It seems very sad for them to be left alone." "It is sad for them," said Mrs. Arkell, agreeing with Mildred. "First Martha Ann, and now Edward!--it is a cruel bereavement. Tring says--and I have noticed it myself--that Mary Hughes has not been the same since that day's misfortune, three or four months ago." "Ah," said Mr. Arkell, drawing a long breath, "I wish I had had the handling of Mr. Robert Carr that day!" The subject was a sore one with him, and ever would be. William believed, in his heart, that he had never been forgiven for having given the permission for the carriage that unlucky morning. They continued to speak of the Hughes's and their affairs, and the interest of Betsey Travice appeared to be awakened. She had risen to go upstairs, but halted near the door, listening still. "And now tell me," began Charlotte, when they were alone together in the chamber, "how you dared so to disgrace me!" "Oh, Charlotte, how have I disgraced you? Do not be unkind to me. I wish I had not come." "I wish it too with all my heart! Why _did_ you come? How on earth could you _think_ of coming? What possessed you to do it?" "Mrs. Arkell wrote for me. She wrote to Mrs. Dundyke, asking her to see me off. I should, never else have thought of coming." "Did I write for you, pray? Could you not have known that if you were wanted I _should_ have written, and, failing that, you were not to come? You wicked girl!" Betsey burst into tears. She had been domineered over in this manner, by Charlotte, all her life; and she took it with appropriate humility and repentance.