But I knew now who was speaking to me, and how to answer him. I threw myself on my knees and prayed earnestly for help and direction, and I had it. It could never be right to do evil that good might come. I did not believe that Mr. Cheriton was unfaithful. I had evidence to the contrary under my hand, and I should be a base liar and slanderer if I told Amabel what I did not myself believe. No, come what might, I must be true to her, to my Master, to myself. Oh, if she would only come in, that I might speak to her, that I might warn her, that I might tell her what I had heard! I thought for a moment what it was best for me to do. I took Mrs. Thorpe's letter, folded it small, and put it into Amabel's prayer-book, where she would be sure to find it. I wrote a few words to her, telling her that I might be sent away from her for a time, begging her to believe that I could not help it, and telling her that I would communicate with her if possible. I had hardly finished these preparations when my lady's French woman knocked at the door, and told me I was to go to her mistress at once. I found my lady sitting where I had left her. She bade me be seated, and signed to her woman to withdraw. "Well, Lucy Corbet, have you considered this matter?" "I have, madam." "And what is the answer?" "The answer is No, madam!" I replied, with a firmness that surprised myself. "I have looked at the thing on all sides, and have come to the conclusion that I cannot serve you in this matter." "Then the thing will be done without you, that is all!" said my lady coolly, though she looked disconcerted. "The thing will be done all the same, and you will lose the profit—that is all!" "What shall it profit a man if he shall gain the whole world and lose his own soul?" The words seemed to come without any will of mine. My lady looked taken aback, but she recovered herself in a moment. "Nonsense, child? Leave such dreams and delusions to the vulgar, and those who have their living to make thereby. I tell you again, girl, this world is all we can grasp,—all that we can make sure of. Let us make ourselves happy here, and leave the next, if there be any next—to care for itself!" "Your ladyship is happy here, then!" "What do you mean? How dare you—" said she, strangely agitated for a moment. Then resuming her lofty and careless demeanor, "Think well, Lucy Corbet—think well, before you speak! Is this your final answer?" "It is madam!" I replied, though a sharp pain seemed to rend my heart as I thought of all my words involved. "I cannot help you in this matter." "Then you leave this house on the instant!" said my lady, sternly. "Taking with you my own and my husband's anger, and what relics of character your escapades here and in Newcastle have left you. You whom my husband, in his folly, has educated to be a fine lady at his expense. You shall learn what it is to be without a home."