"And I wish I had it for you, with all my heart!" returned Lady Corbet. "But it is long since I have had anything to do with the family. You see I am related to the Carews by my mother's side, and my old lady, she would have me to live with her after my parents died. It was good in her, no doubt, but we did not get on well. My lady must needs have everything in her own way, and she set out to break off my match with John Corbet, though I had been betrothed to him in my parents' life-time, and with their consent—and to marry me to Mr. Hervey, a cousin of her own, and a much grander match, to be sure, as things were then, than my poor John Corbet. But though I approve of young folks being guided by their elders in all such matters, I would not give up my poor John for any Mr. Hervey, so there was a breach directly. My cousin Margaret took my part, though she dared not say a great deal, for every one in the house stood in awe of my lady. However, married I was, and my lady would never see me afterward. And how was my cousin, Mrs. Evans? Did not poor Arthur's death break her down very much? Why, my dear, how white you are! Is the room too warm for you?" "I walked fast," said Winifred, recovering herself by a violent effort, though she felt stunned and giddy. "Yes, I dare say, and you are not used to the crowded streets. Here, take my smelling-bottle. Yes, poor Arthur died five or six years ago, soon after he went abroad, and a pity it was, for he was a likely youth, and they say the present lord will never do any good. Well, my dear, your color has come back, sure enough. So if you are ready, we will go see my girls. Just let me lay out the clean towels and napkins for the maids." Winifred had time to recover the calmness which had been so sorely shaken, while Lady Corbet bustled about, arranging the linen. She understood at once that the first report of Arthur's death was the one to which Lady Corbet referred. She was conscious of a mingled feeling of relief and intense disappointment. She could not feel that no news was good news, but at least it was not bad news. She was quite her usual self when Lady Corbet announced that she was ready to go up-stairs. The school-room was in the upper floor of a wing built out into the garden, and as they opened the green baize door which separated it from the rest of the house, their ears were met by the sound of passionate crying. "Ah, my poor Betty!" said Lady Corbet. "I do hope, my dear Mrs. Evans, you will be able to prevent that child's sisters from teasing her life out. They dare not do so before me or their father, but so sure as she is left alone with them, there is 'such' a time! Heyday! What does this mean?" she exclaimed, as she opened the door: "Betty, what are you doing there!"