Betty had indeed done me a cruel mischief, and that not only in the trap she had so artfully laid for me, and into which I had so foolishly walked, like a silly hare into a springe, but in coming to enjoy her triumph as she had just done; for that such was her motive I did not doubt then, nor do I now. She had drawn toward her that anger which I had hitherto directed toward myself, and roused in me a spirit of anger and revenge. I felt as if I could have killed her. In this state of mind, my mother found me when she came in to talk to me later in the evening, nor did all her expostulations avail to draw me out of it. I was ready to beg her pardon in the very dust, and to make my submission to my aunt, but I could not and would not forgive Betty; nay, I would not even say I would try. "Then you must yourself remain unforgiven, my poor child," said my mother; "under the anger of that Heavenly Father whom you have offended. Can you afford that? Will you still further grieve that kind and tender Divine Friend whom you have so deeply grieved already?" If I had spoken out the thought that was in my heart, I should have said that I did not believe that Friend loved me so very much, or he would not have suffered this trouble to come upon me just when I was trying to be so very good; but this I did not dare to say. "I cannot help it, maman," I answered her at last. "I never, never can forgive Betty for the part she has acted. She has been ten times worse than I, and nobody seems to blame her at all. You don't mind her coming here to triumph over me—bringing me a tray forsooth as if I did not know that she will never wait upon any one if she can help it. You don't mind how much I am insulted!" It showed how I was carried out of myself that I dared speak so to my mother. I was scared when the words were out of my mouth. But my mother was one who knew when to reprove and punish and when to soothe and comfort. She saw that I was almost beside myself with anger and excitement—a mood, I must say, which was rare in me. "We will talk no more to-night," said she. "You had better try to calm yourself, and to sleep. My poor little maid, I thought I was bringing you to a safe nest when I refused to leave you in London. But there are temptations everywhere, since there is no earthly state from which the world, the flesh, and the devil can be kept out. Go to bed, my Vevette, and remember, though thou canst not or wilt not pray for thyself, thy mother is praying for thee." With that she kissed me and returned to her own room. I burst into fresh tears, and cried till I could cry no more, and then, feeling my heart a little lightened, I was preparing to undress when some one tapped softly at the door, and a low voice said— "Vevette!" "Who is there?" I asked. "Rosamond," was the answer. "Please let me in. I have brought you a cup of milk and some bread."