It was with a strange feeling that Dolores woke on the New Year’s morning, that something was very sad and strange, and yet that there was a sense of relief. For one thing, that terrible confession to her father was written, and was no longer a weight hanging over her. And though his answer was still to come, that was months away. There was Uncle Regie greatly displeased with her; there was Constance treating her as a traitor; there was the mischief done, and yet something hard and heavy was gone? Something sweet and precious had come in on her! Surely it was, that now she knew and felt that she could trust in Aunt Lilias--yes, and in Mysie. She got up, quite looking forward to meeting those gentle, brown eyes of her aunt’s, that she seemed never before to have looked into, and to feeling the sweet, motherly kiss which had so mud, more meaning in it now, as almost to make up for Uncle Reginald’s estrangement. She even anticipated gladly those ten minutes alone with her aunt, which she used to dislike so much, hoping that the holiday-time would not hinder them. Really wishing to please her aunt, she had learnt her portion perfectly, and Lady Merrifield showed that she appreciated the effort, though still it was more a lesson than a reality. ‘My dear!’ she said, ‘I am afraid this is another blow for you--it came this morning.’ It was the account from Professor Muhlwasser’s German publisher, amounting to a few shillings more than six pounds. And an announcement that the books were on the way. ‘Oh,’ cried Dolores, ‘I thought he was dead! He told me so! Uncle Alfred, I mean! And it was only to get the money! How could he be so wicked?’ ‘I am afraid that was all he cared for.’ ‘And what shall I do. Aunt Lily? Will you pay it, please, and take all my allowance till it is made up?’ ‘I think it will be more comfortable for you if I do something of that sort, though I don’t think you should go entirely without money. You have a pound a quarter. I was going to give you yours at once.’ ‘Oh, take it--pray--’ ‘Suppose I give you five shillings, instead of twenty. I do not think it well to leave you with nothing for a year and a half, and this is nearly what Mysie has.’ ‘A shilling a month--very well. I wish I could pay it all at once!’ ‘No doubt you do, my dear, but this will keep you in mind for a long time what a dangerous thing you did in giving away money you had no right to dispose of.’ ‘Yes,’ said Dolores. ‘Mother earned money for him. I know she never took father’s without asking him; but I couldn’t earn, and couldn’t ask.’