"And is it even so!" she thought, as she descended the stairs. "Has the poor little thing been cherishing the memory and image of my wild Arthur all these weary years? I remember now how shy she has seemed of asking or speaking about him! Well, well! Such constancy deserves its reward, but I fear for her, especially if Arthur should return. However, there is no help for it now. She would make a lovely little baroness, that is certain, and her birth and breeding are better than those of the London heiress my poor mother destined for her elder son. But what an old fool I am! Arthur has doubtless fallen in love with a dozen ladies of quality since he hath seen Winifred!" Lady Corbet could not help showing her disappointment at the rejection of Doctor Mercer, and would have plied Winifred with various arguments in his favor, had not her cousin persuaded her that to agitate Winifred in her present weak state would be to endanger a relapse which would infallibly kill the patient. "Well, I dare say you are right, Cousin Margaret! You always are, and if Winifred cannot like him, she cannot; and that is all about it. But to see the luck some girls have! I could almost have wished the offer had fallen to my Pall, who, poor child, can hardly hope for any great match after all that has happened. Not that I should care so much for that, if I could only see her hold up her head once more." "I have observed that my young cousin seemed to have a cloud hanging over her," said Lady Peckham, not unwilling to divert Lady Corbet's attention from Winifred. "She appears like one who has some heavy trouble upon her mind." The good mother was easily won to tell the story, and her cousin listened with real sympathy and kindness. "And, now you see all this puts my poor girl in a sad position!" concluded Lady Corbet. "Her father is displeased, and with good reason, and people about town make the tale a deal worse than it really is. It is bad enough, no doubt, and would have been worse, but for Winifred and the good doctor, but yet it seems hard that the poor maid's life should be thus overclouded. My old Lady Germaine, who has always been my great friend and adviser, cannot help me here, in respect she is herself a papist—more's the pity! And what to do I cannot tell." "You do not think Paulina has any present inclination to the Church of Rome?" asked her cousin. "Bless your heart, no! I am rather afraid of her going to the other extreme. I found her only yesterday reading the strangest book! It is called the 'Pilgrim's Progress,' and Mr. Gunnison says it was written by a Baptist tinker. I must say it reads like a fairy tale, and though I am no great reader, I could hardly lay it down. But surely such a book cannot be fit for a young lady!"