“Are you?” said Miss Anastasia;--“perhaps you are right,--he will feel this, I dare say, as much as he can feel anything--but _I_ was sorry for the boy. Young people think it hard to die--fools!--they don’t know the blessing that lies in it. Living long enough to come to the crown of youth, and dying in its blossom--that’s a lot fit for an angel. Agnes Atheling, never look through your tears at me.” But Agnes could not help looking at the old lady wistfully, with her young inquiring eyes. “What does the Rector do here?--they tell me he comes often,” said Miss Rivers. “Do you know that now, so far as people understand, _he_ comes to be heir of Winterbourne?” “He came to tell us yesterday of the poor young gentleman’s death,” said Mrs Atheling, “and I thought he seemed a little excited. Agnes, I am sure you observed it as well as I.” “No, mamma,” said Agnes, turning away hastily. She went to get some work, that no one might observe her own looks, with a sudden nervous tremor and impatience upon her. The Rector had been very kind to Louis, had done a brother’s part to him--far more than any one else in the world had ever done to this friendless youth--yet Louis’s friends were labouring with all their might, working in darkness like evil-doers, to undermine the supposed right of Lionel--that right which made his breast expand and his brow clear, and freed him from an uncongenial fate. Agnes sat down trembling, with a sudden nervous access of vexation, disappointment, annoyance, which she could not explain. She had been accustomed for a long time now to follow him with interest and sympathy, and to read his thoughts in those wild public self-revelations of his, which no one penetrated but herself; but she felt actually guilty, a plotter, and concerned against him now. “I am sorry for Lionel,” said Miss Rivers, who had not lost a single fluctuation of colour on Agnes’s cheek, nor tremble of emotion in her hurried hands--“but it would have been more grievous for poor George had he lived. There will be only disappointment--not disgrace--for any other heir.” She paused awhile, still watching Agnes, who bent over her work, greatly disposed to cry, and in a very agitated condition of mind. Then she said as suddenly as before, “I forget my proper errand--I have come for the girls. You are to go up with me to the Priory. Go, make haste--put on your bonnet--I never wait, even for young ladies; call your sister, and make ready to go.” Agnes rose, startled and unwilling, and cast an inquiring look at Mamma. Mrs Atheling was startled too, but she was not insensible to the pride and glory of seeing her two daughters drive off to Abingford Priory in the well-known carriage of Miss Anastasia. “Since Miss Rivers is so good, make haste, my dear,” said Mrs Atheling; and Agnes had no alternative but to obey.