There was a little silence; then Lady Jane nervously caught her brother’s hand, saying, “O Giles, Giles, you must not be severe with her, poor little thing!”

“Why should I be severe, Jane?” he said. “What has the child done to deserve it?”

“I do not wish to enter into particulars,” said Lady Barbara. “But she is a child who has been so unfortunately brought up as to require constant watching; and to have her in the house does so much harm to Jane’s health, that I strongly advise you not to attempt it in Emily’s state of spirits.”

“It would little benefit Emily’s spirits to transfer a duty to a stranger,” said the Colonel. “But I wish to know why you evidently think so ill of this girl, Barbara!”

“Her entire behaviour since she has been with us—” began Lady Barbara.

“Generalities only do mischief, Barbara. If I have any control over this child, I must know facts.”

“The truth is, Giles,” said his sister, distressed and confused, “that I promised the child not to tell you of her chief piece of misconduct, unless I was compelled by some fresh fault.”

“An injudicious promise, Barbara. You do the child more harm by implying such an opinion of her than you could do by letting me hear what she has actually done. But you are absolved from the promise, for she has herself told me.”

“Told you! That girl has no sense of shame! After all the pains I took to conceal it!”

“No, Barbara; it was with the utmost shame that she told me. It was unguarded of me, I own; but De la Poer and I had entirely forgotten that she was present, and I asked him if he could account for your evident dislike and distrust of her. The child’s honourable feelings would not allow her to listen, and she came forward, and accused herself, not you!”

“Before Lord de la Poer! Giles, how could you allow it?” cried Lady Barbara, confounded. “That whole family will tell the story, and she will be marked for ever!”

“De la Poer has some knowledge of child nature,” said the Colonel, slightly smiling.

“A gentleman often encourages that sort of child, but condemns her the more. She will be a by-word in that family! I always knew she would be our disgrace!”

“O Giles, do tell Barbara it cannot be so very bad!” entreated Lady Jane. “She is such a child—poor little dear!—and so little used to control!”

“I have only as yet heard her own confused account.”

Lady Barbara gave her own.

“I see,” said the Colonel, “the child was both accurate and candid. You should be thankful that your system has not destroyed her sincerity.”

“But, indeed, dear Giles,” pleaded Lady Jane, “you know Barbara did not want her to say what was false.”

“No,” said the Colonel: “that was a mere misunderstanding. It is the spirit of distrust that—assuming that a child will act dishonourably—is likely to drive her to do so.”

“I never distrusted Katharine till she drove me to do so,” said Lady Barbara, with cold, stern composure.

“I would never bring an accusation of breach of trust where I had not made it evident that I reposed confidence,” said the Colonel.

“I see how it is,” said Lady Barbara; “you have heard one side. I do not contradict. I know the girl would not wilfully deceive by word; and I am willing to confess that I am not capable of dealing with her. Only from a sense of duty did I ever undertake it.”

“Of duty, Barbara?” he asked.

“Yes—of duty to the family.”

“We do not see those things in the same light,” he said quietly. “I thought, as you know, that the duty was more incumbent when the child was left an orphan—a burthen on relatives who could ill afford to be charged with her. Perhaps, Barbara, if you had noticed her then, instead of waiting till circumstances made her the head of our family, you might have been able to give her that which has been wanting in your otherwise conscientious training—affection.”

Lady Barbara held up her head, stiffly, but she was very near tears, of pain and wounded pride; but she would not defend herself; and she saw that even her faithful Jane did not feel with her.

“I came home, Barbara,” continued the Colonel, “resolving that—much as I wished for Emily’s sake that this little girl should need a home with us—if you had found in her a new interest and delight, and were in her—let me say it, Barbara—healing old sores, and giving her your own good sense and high principle, I would not say one word to disturb so happy a state of things. I come and find the child a state prisoner, whom you are endeavouring by all means to alienate from the friends to whom she owes a daughter’s gratitude; I find her not complaining of you, but answering me with the saddest account a child can give of herself—she is always naughty. After this, Barbara, I can be doing you no injury in asking you to concur with me in arrangements for putting the child under my wife’s care as soon as possible.”

“To-morrow, if you like,” said Lady Barbara. “I took her only from a sense of duty; and it has half killed Jane. I would not keep her upon any consideration!”

“O Barbara, it has not hurt me.—O Giles, she will always be so anxious about me; it is all my fault for being nervous and foolish!” cried Lady Jane, with quivering voice, and tears in her eyes. “If it had not been for that, we could have made her so happy, dear little spirited thing. But dear Barbara spoils me, and I know I give way too much.”

“This will keep you awake all night!” said Barbara, as the Colonel’s tender gesture agitated Jane more. “Indeed, Giles, you should have chosen a better moment for this conversation—on almost your first arrival too! But the very existence of this child is a misfortune!”

“Let us trust that in a few years she may give you reason to think otherwise,” said the Colonel. “Did you mean what you said—that you wished us to take her to-morrow?”

“Not to incommode Emily. She can go on as she has done till your plans are made. You do not know what a child she is.”

“Emily shall come and settle with you to-morrow,” said Colonel Umfraville. “I have not yet spoken to her, but I think she will wish to have the child with her.”

“And you will be patient with her. You will make her happy,” said Lady Jane, holding his hand.

“Everything is made happy by Emily,” he answered.

“But has she spirits for the charge?”

“She has always spirits enough to give happiness to others,” he answered; and the dew was on his dark lashes.

“And you, Giles—you will not be severe even if the poor child is a little wild?”

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