"You are your father's own child, Lucy. Have your way then, since I verily believe it to be the right one. When you can no longer stay here, then come to me both of you. If I am not living, go to your aunt at Thornyhaugh. Bless you, children, you do surely show forth your faith, not only in your lips but in your lives." [Illustration] CHAPTER XXI. CHANGES AT HIGHBECK. MRS. Deborah at once began her preparations for removal to the Little House, as her mansion was called, and we helped her as far as we could. Amabel kept up wonderfully considering, and tried her best not to let her trouble, trouble others. But it is not the people that bear things best, who feel them least, and as I saw my dear girl's face grow pale and thin, and noted the dark marks under her eyes, my heart was very bitter toward the author of all this distress. In some sense, her pain was harder to bear than mine, inasmuch as I could say, "I opened not my mouth, because Thou didst it." No hand but my Heavenly Father's had parted Mr. Thorpe and me—for it seemed quite certain by news received from the East, that his ship had gone down with all hands, during a great storm in the Indian Ocean. In another, mine was the worst. For Amabel there was still a charm, Sir Julius might change his mind or a dozen other things might happen. Mr. Cheriton was at Newcastle alive and well, and we heard of him every now and then by Mrs. Thorpe, who wrote every time she sent a parcel to me or to Mrs. Deborah. (It was a wonder how many things Mrs. Deborah needed from Mrs. Thorpe about that time.) But my friend was gone. I could never see him again as long as I lived. My heart might hunger as it would to see or hear from him, and I never could see or hear from him—no, not if I should run all over the world. Let no one say that absence is like death. It is like that other popular folly of comparing death and sleep. There is the distance of an eternity between them. As for my other trouble—that of being degraded from being Amabel's equal and companion, to being her waiting-woman—that did not disturb me very greatly at this time. I had faith enough in Amabel to believe that it would make no difference with her, and I had too great a contempt for Lady Leighton to trouble myself very much about her. I had yet to learn that people whom we despise can sting almost as deeply as those whom we respect. The arrival of the new furniture and servants at the Hall was the signal for Aunt Deborah to leave it. The new housekeeper turned out to be Mrs. Wilson, my lady's woman, whose acquaintance we had made during that unlucky visit. She was full of her own consequence, found fault with everything, scolded the old servants, was barely civil to Amabel and a good deal less than civil to me. The old housekeeper Jenny and Richard left the hall with Mrs. Deborah and also old Elsie, who was still alive and able, as she expressed it, to do a days' darg with any one.