She said no more, but wishing him good-night she went upstairs. To-morrow gave but little time for any preparation, and then she had to arrange where she could go with the girls. In this matter she could be guided perhaps by their wishes. She called Jean, who generally sat up for her, and told her in concise words what was to happen. Jean was fairly taken aback, not unnaturally her first thought was about herself. "Is it me, ma'am, that is going to be left to look after Mr. Sandford? I shall never be able to get on with him." "Yes you will, dear Jean, you please him already, he is always saying how well everything is done." "Oh, I'm not afeard for him when he's in a good way," said Jean, stoutly, "but what will I do when he gets _rampagious_? I'll be feared of my life of him then." "Oh, Jean, do not make difficulties," said poor Mrs. Dorriman; "it is hard enough, and in the wide world I do not know where I am going with these girls!" "That's bad," said Jean, sympathising fully with the position of affairs; "it's a hard case to go to an unkent place, with other people's children too!" She made no more difficulties, she put everything ready, but she strongly advised Mrs. Dorriman to prevent the girls going early. "Go at a reasonable hour, and why not?" she insisted. "What is the good of setting people's tongues wagging? they'll aye be speaking whether or no, but no harm comes if the things they say have no legs to stand on." The early morning roused Grace and Margaret, and they went to the window and looked out. The night had been bright, and, though the moon had not been visible, there had been that soft starlight which is so mysterious and beautiful. With a vague hope of seeing a fine morning which would inspirit them they drew near, and gazed blankly at the scene before them. A grey, leaden-coloured sky, a hopeless, pitiless rain, mud everywhere, and everything cheerless, drooping, and miserable. Tears came into Grace's eyes, and she and Margaret clung together for a moment. "We must go," said Margaret, to whom nothing else seemed possible. "I suppose we must," said Grace, looking blankly before her. Their spirits sank. Margaret, moving softly so as to disturb no one, dragged out first one then another of their boxes. She was resolved to go on with the preparations. She had been more deeply wounded than even Grace by those words of Mr. Sandford's about Mr. Drayton; and then came this terrible thought--was _his_ offer the consequence of something said by Mr. Sandford? If so, how doubly glad she was all had ended as it had. Grace, always easily influenced by the aspect of things, was in a terrible state of depression. She turned her head round once or twice and watched Margaret, but she never offered to help her. She did so hate discomfort! and the prospect of going out and facing the dirt and rain and cold broke her down. Her spirit had forsaken her, and sitting there with a plaid thrown over her she cried miserably.