'He treats the young lady very coolly,' thought Rachel, forgetting, perhaps, that his special relations to Dorcas Brandon had compelled his stay in that part of the world. Mingled with this criticism, was a feeling quite unavowed even to herself--a sore feeling that Lord Chelford had been--and this she never admitted to herself before--more particular--no, not exactly that--but more something or other--not exactly expressible in words, in his approaches to her, than was consistent with his situation. But then she had been very guarded; not stiff or prudish, indeed, but frank and cold enough with him, and that was comforting. Still there was a sense of wonder--a great blank, and something of pain in the discovery--yes, pain--though she smiled a faint blushing smile--alone as she was; and then came a deep sigh; and then a sort of start. 'Rachel, Rachel, is it possible?' murmured the young lady, with the same dubious smile, looking down upon the ground, and shaking her head. 'Yes, I do really think you had begun to like Lord Chelford--only _begun_, the least little insidious bit; but thank you, wild Bessie Frankleyn, you have quite opened my eyes. Rachel, Rachel, girl! what a fool you were near becoming!' She looked like her old pleasant self during this little speech--arch and fresh, and still smiling--she looked up and sighed, and then her dark look returned, and she said dismally, 'What utter madness!' And leaned for a while with her fingers upon the window sash; and when she turned to old Tamar, who brought in her tiny tea equipage, it seemed as if the shadow of the dell, into which she had been vacantly gazing, still rested on her face. 'Not here, Tamar; I'll drink tea in my room; and you must bring your tea-cup, too, and we'll take it together. I am--I think I am--a little nervous, darling, and you won't leave me?' So they sat down together in her chamber. It was a cheery little bed-room, when the shutters were closed, and the fire burning brightly in the grate. 'My good Tamar will read her chapters aloud. I wish I could enjoy them like you. I can only wish. You must pray for me, Tamar. There is a dreadful image--and I sometimes think a dreadful being always near me. Though the words you read are sad and awful, they are also sweet, like funeral music a long way off, and they tranquillise me without making me better, as the harping of David did the troubled and forsaken King Saul.' So the old nurse mounted her spectacles, glad of the invitation, and began to read. Her reading was very, slow, and had other faults too, being in that sing-song style to which some people inexplicably like to read Holy Writ; but it was reverent and distinct, and I have heard worse even in the reading desk. 'Stop,' said Rachel suddenly, as she reached about the middle of the chapter. The old woman looked up, with her watery eyes wide open, and there was a short pause.