“Oh, my word! you ain’t been brought up proper on your Bible. ‘Give me neither poverty nor riches,’ was Agar’s cry, ‘and feed me with food convenient for me.’ I often thought how beautiful was his words, and when I sees the rich and great of the earth I says to mysel’, ‘Well, they’re not Agars.’ They might ha’ been Agars if they liked and gave away some of their property to feed the starving, but they didn’t like it and they ain’t got the blessing. My deary, I’d like well to see that husband of yours.” “If we meet him I’ll introduce him to you.” “What’s his name, dear?” “Sir Richard Pelham.” “Aye, that’s a pretty name; and you’re not married more than two months?” “No.” “I hope you’ll be happy, Lady Pelham, and you has my best wishes. Oh, is this the house?” They were turning a corner of the avenue as the old woman spoke, and now the magnificent old pile, gray with age, appeared in view. Mrs. Ives dropped a succession of curtseys with great rapidity. “It’s my way of expressing my feelings,” she said, looking at Barbara. “It’s a magnificent place, and you must be proud of it.” “Not at all. Sometimes one feels both pleasure and pain in possessing a place of this sort.” “Oh, that’s because you’re young to it,” said Mrs. Ives. “You’ll soon get accustomed, mark my words. Of course, only being wedded two months, you naturally feel a bit strange. Perhaps afore you was married you was a poor girl like my Clary.” “Clara!” cried Barbara in astonishment. “Clara Ives! Do you mean to tell me,” she cried excitedly, “that you are the mother of Clara Ives, the nurse?” “Same, love, same. She’s my own true darter—a plain girl.” “And she’s married to Dr. Tarbot?” “Yes, my dear; like yourself, she’s married riches—from poverty she has come to great wealth.” “I was never exactly poor in that way,” said Barbara, who did not care to have her past compared to that of Clara Ives. “But this is interesting!” she cried. “You are not like Mrs. Tarbot.” “Oh, something the same, my dear. I’ve just them sort of crabbed notions; she was always a crabbed girl, but mortal clever. Well, I was curious to see the place and now I’ve seen it, and I’m pleased to have had this talk with you. Now, your husband, he don’t have your feelings, do he? He’s accustomed to wealth from his birth, ain’t that so?” “Well, no, that’s the curious part,” said Barbara, who found herself confiding in this old woman, and not in the least minding the fact that she was doing so. “Dick, my dear husband, came in for the property unexpectedly.” “Indeed, that do sound romantic. Was it a sudden death, a shipwreck, or a murder, that done it?” “Oh, no, no, nothing like that—but it was very sad. Mr. Pelham, as he was then, was very poor, and he loved me well, but we could not marry. Then his dear little cousin died—such a sweet boy—and Dick became Sir Richard Pelham.” “Ah, quite a little child it was who stood in the way and he died?” said Mrs. Ives.