y dear! what is it now? exclaimed her kind companion, pulling down
her apron, and trying to draw down first one, then the other of the
arms which persisted in veiling the crimson face. 'Surely you don't
think missus or I would mistrust you, or think you'd take up with the
likes of him!'

'How could she be so cruel--so spiteful,' sobbed Charlotte, 'when he
only came to ask one question, and did a good turn for me with the
mats. I never thought of such a thing. Sweetheart, indeed! So cruel
of her!'

'Bless me!' said Jane, 'girls used to think it only civility to say
they had a sweetheart!'

'Don't, Mrs. Beckett! I hate the word! I don't want no such thing! I
won't never speak to Tom Madison again, if such constructions is to be
put on it!'

'Well, after all, Charlotte dear, that will be the safest way. You are
young yet, and best not to think of settling, special if you aren't
sure of one that is steady and religious, and you'd better keep
yourself up, and not get a name for gossiping--though there's no harm
done yet, so don't make such a work. Bless me, if I don't hear his
lordship's voice! He ain't never come so early!'

'Yes, he is,' said Charlotte, recovering from her sobs; 'he rode up as
I came in.'

'Well, to be sure, he is come to breakfast! I hope nothin's amiss with
my young Lord! I must run up with a cup and plate, and you, make the
place tidy, in case Mr. Poynings comes in. You'd better run into the
scullery and wash your face; 'tis all tears! You're a terrible one to
cry, Charlotte!' with a kind, cheering smile and caress.

Mrs. Beckett bustled off, leaving Charlotte to restore herself to the
little handy piece of household mechanism which kind, patient, motherly
training had rendered her.

Charlotte Arnold had been fairly educated at a village school, and
tenderly brought up at home till left an orphan, when she had been
taken into her present place. She had much native refinement and
imagination, which, half cultivated, produced a curious mixture of
romance and simplicity. Her insatiable taste for reading was
meritorious in the eyes of Mrs. Beckett, who, unlearned herself,
thought any book better than 'gadding about,' and, after hearing her
daily portion of the Bible, listened to the most adventurous romances,
with a sense of pleasure and duty in keeping the girl to her book.
She loved the little fragile orphan, taught her, and had patience with
her, and trusted the true high sound p