Margaret Prout came in this morning, looking so pleased that I concluded she had fresh and better news of Mrs. Pevensey. But no—she had only a letter from Harry, and a note from Emily. I begged she would read me Emily’s first, which she did. Emily said that immediately on hearing of what had happened, Mrs. Pevensey’s maiden sister,—who goes among the young people by the name of Aunt Catherine,—packed up bag and baggage, got a passport and bills of exchange, and started off with a courier for the scene of affliction. What a comfort she will be to them all! Many would have shilly-shallied, and written to ask whether they were wanted, and looked about for an escort, and awaited a quiet sea for crossing, and nobody knows what, till the real day of need had passed. That is not Aunt Catherine’s way. “What thou doest, do quickly,” has, throughout her life, been to her a precept of Divine obligation. She does not do things hurriedly—all in a scramble, so as to be twitted with “most haste, worse speed,” by people less energetic than herself; but she does them _at once_; consequently, she does them efficiently; while her ardour, uncooled, supports her through the undertaking, and makes her insensible of half the difficulty. I always regard this as a very fine element in her character. Aunt Kate does not look twice at a pill before she takes it; nor lose the post for want of finishing a letter in good time; nor send a cheque to be cashed at the county-bank after office-hours. She is never likely to be short of postage-stamps, or of money for current expenses, or to leave small debts unpaid, or small obligations uncancelled, and then to content herself with saying, “Oh, I forgot that!” There is no one on whom I should more surely rely for knowing, in a common-sense, unprofessional way, not only what remedy to take for any illness, or what measures to resort to in case of a burn, scald, or fractured limb, but what antidote to administer for any poison accidentally taken—whether hot brandy-and-water for prussic acid, milk for vitriol, or an emetic for opium, followed by draughts of vinegar and water—thus preparing the way for the doctor she had lost no time in summoning, but who might not be able instantly to answer her summons. Such a maiden sister as this in a large family household is invaluable. Nor does Miss Pevensey deteriorate the price set on her sterling qualities by acerbity, or bluff or snappish manners. On the contrary, she is cordial and easily contented—always ready to take, without saying anything to anybody, the least-envied seat in a carriage, or at table, or in church, willing to sleep in the room with the chimney that smokes, and to have the windows open or the doors shut, to suit her companions; though, of course, she has her preferences. And all this without the least servility—which, indeed, would be strangely purposeless, for she is in independent circumstances.