Barnard will come for
you."

"Oh yes, ma'am, I know; but there's my sister, ma'am, and her children.
I could not leave them."

"I was afraid they did not know how to take care of you, and that your
brother-in-law was rough with you."

"My sister have been much better of late, since you have been here,
ma'am; and the poor children, ma'am, I can do something for them."

"I see that John and Judy seem to respond to your care; but is it right
to give up all your comfort and peace, and even your health, for so
little as you are enabled to do for them? It would be better if there
were some appreciation of your care, or some attention paid--"

"Molly is generally good to me. Yes, she is, ma'am; and poor little
Johnnie, there ain't nothing he would not do for me. I'm greatly
obliged to Mrs Barnard and the dear young ladies. I would dearly like
to see them again; but Molly is my sister, and my sister is my sister,
and I can't feel it right to leave her."

"I honour you, Judith. It is a right feeling. But when they neglect
you, and prey upon you, can it be incumbent on you to give up all for
their sakes?"

"I don't know, ma'am; but my poor sister, she has a hard life, and I
think her husband would be worse to her if I went away. I couldn't have
no comfort in thinking of them if I did."

"Do they know of this? Have they been persuading you?"

"No, ma'am; I did not say a word. Molly was out, and I wanted to think
it out without being worried and terrified."

"Quite right, Judith. I am glad they do not know," said Mary, who had
learned that "terrified" did not mean frightened, but "tormented." "I
can well believe you have decided in true unselfishness, and in the fear
of God. But if you see reason to change your mind, let me know in the
course of the week."

Dora and Sophy were really quite angry at Judith's refusal, especially
Dora, who had taken all the trouble of representing her condition to the
Barnards.

"I should call it ungrateful," she said, "only I believe it is pure
weakness and folly. Those people have been bullying her and tormenting
her out of consenting."

"You are wrong, Dora," said her sister, "they know nothing about it!
This is all her own doing."

"And," said Edmund, "if you were older, Dora, you would know how to
appreciate a very noble act of self-denial."

Dora did not at all like Edmund to talk of her being older; but what he
had said gave her something to think about, and sh