"You have, indeed, changed your mind," said Miss Saville, with a smile which was rather grim. "But, indeed, I don't wonder at it. I never expected anything else, and it was only a fancy with you. You have enough of natural duties at home. But here is how the case stands with me, my dears. The Rector may marry--I hope he will--indeed, I may say that there is great hope of it. I have enough to keep myself, but I have nothing to do. I should like to be near William--I mean the Rector; but what would become of me if I was idle, do you think? I did once think of gathering a few clever girls about me, and setting up an establishment for church embroidery; but William--the Rector, I mean--very justly says, that I could not afford to give such expensive things away, and to receive payment for them--though only for the materials--would be unbecoming a lady; so I think it was quite a providential suggestion when I thought of taking care of the aged poor at Cottisbourne. Hark! did you hear any one call me, my dear?" "No, Miss Saville. Are you looking for any one?" said Flora, perceiving our companion's anxiety for the first time. "No--no!--no!" said Miss Saville, hurriedly, "I cannot say I am. A friend who is visiting us, strayed out by himself--that is all. He does not know the country. I am afraid he might miss his way," she continued, in a very quick, conscious, apologetic tone. And suddenly there came to my recollection, the face I had once seen at the Rectory window. Could this man be under _surveillance_ by them? Could he be crazy, or in disgrace? Could he have escaped? I became suddenly very curious--almost excited. I looked into the corners of the hedges, henceforward, as carefully as Miss Saville did herself. And in my exaggerated disinterestedness, and desire for pain rather than pleasure, I was offended with her plain and simple statement of what her design was in setting up this asylum of hers. I said, not without a little sarcasm: "If it is only for occupation, Miss Saville, I think Sally herself could give you enough to do." "Who is old Sally?" asked Flora, with a wondering glance at me. "A wretched, ghastly, miserable old woman," said, I; "one who would disgust even you, with all your meekness, Flora." "Mamma says we should never be disgusted with any one," said Flora, in an under-tone--in which, shy as it was, my quick ear could not fail to detect a slight mixture of disapprobation. "But this is a selfish, discontented, unhappy creature, who looks as if she could curse every one happier than herself," said I.