"Then you do not think I need let her have them? Dear Mrs. Mowbray, has she any _right_ to take my things from me?" "I should say not," Mrs. Mowbray answered. "Then you think I may refuse when she asks me for them?" said Rotha, joyfully. "What is your rule of action, my dear?" "My rule?" said Rotha, growing grave again. "I think, Mrs. Mowbray, I want to do what is right." "There is a further question. Do you want to do what I think right, or what you think right, or--what God thinks right?" "I want to do _that_," said Rotha, with her heart beating very disagreeably. "I want to do what God thinks right." "Then I advise you, my dear, to ask him." "Ask him what, madame?" "Ask what you ought to do in the circumstances. I confess I am not ready with the answer. My first feeling is with you, that your aunt has no right to take such a step; but, my dear, it is sometimes our duty to suffer wrong. And you are under her care; she is the nearest relative you have; you must consider what is due to her in that connection. She stands to you in the place of your parents--" "O no, ma'am!" Rotha exclaimed. "Never! Not the least bit." "Not as entitled to affection, but as having a right to respect and observance. You cannot change that fact, my dear. Whether you love her or not, you owe her observance; and within certain limits, obedience. She stands in that place with regard to you." "But my own mother gave me to Mr. Southwode." "He could not take care of you properly; as he shewed that he was aware when he placed you under the protection of your aunt." "She will never protect me," said Rotha. "She will do the other thing." "Well, my dear, that does not change the circumstances," said Mrs. Mowbray rising. "Then you think"--said Rotha in great dismay--"you think I ought to pray, to know what I ought to do?" "Yes. I know no better way. If you desire to do the will of the Lord, and not your own." "But how shall I get the answer?" "Look in the Bible for it. You will get it. And now, good night, my dear child! Don't sit up to-night to think about it; it is late. Start fresh to-morrow. You have a good time for that sort of study, now in the holidays." She gave a kind embrace to Rotha; and the girl went to bed soothed and comforted. True, her blood boiled when she thought of her stockings; but she tried not to think of them, and soon was beyond thinking of anything.