"If such be the master's fiat, I cannot help being troubled with thee," was the answer of Samuel Lynn; but the tone of his voice spoke of anything rather than dissatisfaction. "Why is he sending thee as well as myself?" "He told me he thought it might be best that you should show me the markets, and introduce me to the skin merchants, as I should probably have to make the journey alone in future," replied William. "I had no idea, until the master mentioned it now, that you had ever made the journey yourself, Mr. Lynn; you never told me." "There was nothing, that I am aware of, to call for the information," observed the Quaker, in his usual dry manner. "I went there two or three times on my own account when I was in business for myself. Did the master tell thee when he should expect us to start?" "Not precisely. The beginning of the week, I think." "I have been asking my father if he cannot take me," put in Anna, in plaintive tones, looking at William. "And I have answered her, that she may as well ask me to take the Malvern Hills," was the rejoinder of Samuel Lynn. "I could as likely take the one as the other." Likely or unlikely, Samuel Lynn would have taken her beyond all doubt--taken her with a greedy, sheltering grasp--had he foreseen the result of leaving her at home, the grievous trouble that was to fall upon her head. "Thee wilt drink a dish of tea with us this evening, William?" It was Patience who spoke. William hesitated, but he saw they would be pleased at his doing so, and he sat down. The conversation turned upon France--upon Samuel Lynn's experiences, and William's anticipations. Anna lapsed into silence and abstraction. In the bustle of moving, when Samuel Lynn was departing for the manufactory, William, before going home to his books, contrived to obtain a word alone with Anna. "Have you thought of our compact?" "Yes," she said, freely meeting his eyes in honest truth. "I saw him this afternoon in the street; I went on purpose to try and meet him. He will not come again." "That is well. Mind and take care of yourself, Anna," he added, with a smile. "I shall be away, and not able to give an eye to you, as I freely confess it had been my resolve to do." Anna shook her head. "He does not come again," she repeated. "Thee may go away believing me, William." And William did go away believing her--went away to France putting faith in her; thinking that the undesirable intimacy was at an end for ever. CHAPTER XXV. PATIENCE COME TO GRIEF. In the early part of March, Samuel Lynn and William departed on their journey to France. And the first thought that occurred to Patience afterwards was one that is apt to occur to many thrifty housekeepers on the absence of the master--that of instituting a thorough cleansing of the house, from garret to cellar; or, as Anna mischievously expressed it, "turning the house inside out." She knew Patience did not like her wild phrases, and therefore she used them.