“That is just it, ma’am,” said Moulsey; “you’re a deal too much the same as the young ladies, and can’t make up your mind as you haven’t the strength for it. I’m not one to ask any questions, but I can’t help seeing there’s something wrong. Don’t you give in to Miss Bee in everything. I wouldn’t go down to make up the quarrel if I was you. Leave ’em to themselves, and it’ll all come right. Bless us, lovers’ quarrels is nothing--it wouldn’t be half the fun if it wasn’t for that.” Moulsey knew very well this was no lovers’ quarrel; but it seemed to her a good way of satisfying herself what it was. “Oh, if that were all!” sighed the poor lady. “Moulsey, you are an old friend, and take an interest in the family. You have known Miss Bee since ever she was born. I don’t know why I shouldn’t tell you. It is no quarrel; it’s something the Colonel has heard about Mr. Leigh.” “All lies, ma’am, I don’t make no manner of doubt.” “Do you think so, Moulsey; oh, do you think so? Have you heard anything? You often know more, hearing the servants speak, than we do. If you have any light to throw on the subject, oh, do so, do! I shall be grateful to you all my life.” “I don’t know as I have any light to throw. I knew as there was some trouble at the time the poor young lady died--some friend of hers, as Mr. Leigh, being a kind-hearted gentleman, couldn’t turn out of the house--and it made a talk. But if there was anything wrong, you take my word, ma’am, it was none of his fault.” “Ah, it’s so easy to say that, Moulsey; but the man must bear the blame.” “I’ve always heard, ma’am, as it was the woman that got the blame; and right enough, for they often deserve it the most,” Moulsey said. “Oh, I wish--I wish, whoever was to blame, that it was not I that had to clear it up,” poor Mrs. Kingsward said. “Oh, cursed spite, That ever I was born to set it right.” She would not have said this, poor lady. She would have thought it swearing and unbecoming for a woman’s lips; still, Hamlet’s sentiment was hers, with much stronger reason. She looked like anything but a strong representative of justice as she went downstairs. Charlie had come to give her his arm, and though he was very tender to her, Charlie had no idea of sparing her any more than Bee. He, too, thought that it was only the risk of a headache, and that a headache was no such great matter. Charlie’s idea was, however, that what the governor said was, of all things on earth, the most important to be carried out--especially when it did not concern himself.