ve sent her message,
whether or no," said Clarissa.

"Go up-stairs, Matilda," said her aunt; "and don't come down again
to-night. No, Maria," for Maria rose, muttering that she would go too,
"no, you do _not_ go now. Sit down, till the usual time. Go to bed,
Matilda. I will talk to you to-morrow."

It was no punishment, the being sent off; though her aunt's words and
manner were. In all her little life, till now, Matilda had never known
any but gentle and tender treatment. She had not been a child to
require other; and though a more decided government might have been
good, perhaps, the soft and easy affection in the midst of which she
had grown up was far better for her than harshness, which indeed she
never deserved. As she went up the stairs to-night, she felt like a
person suddenly removed, in the space of an hour, from the atmosphere
of some balmy, tropical clime, to the sharp rigours of the north pole.
She shivered, mentally.

But the effect of the tropics returned when she had closed the door of
her room. The treasures of comfort and pleasure stored up that
afternoon were not lost; and being a secret treasure, they were not
within anybody's power. Matilda kneeled down and gave thanks for it
all; then took out her pocket-book and admired it; she would not count
the money this evening, the outside was quite enough. She stowed it
away in a safe place, and slowly undressed; her heart so full of
pleasant things enjoyed and other pleasant things hoped for, that she
soon utterly forgot Mrs. Candy, message and all. Sweet visions of what
was to be done in Lilac Lane rose before her eyes; what might _not_ be
done, between Norton and her, now? and with these came in other
visions--of those kisses of Mrs. Laval, which had been such mother's
kisses. Matilda stood still to remember and feel them over again.
Nobody had ever kissed her so, but her mother. And so, in a little warm
heart-glow of her own which enveloped everything, like the golden haze
on the mountains that evening, Matilda undressed leisurely, and read
her Bible, and prayed, and went to sleep. And her waking mood was like
the morning light upon the mountains, so clear and quiet.

Maria, however, was in complete contrast. This was not very unusual.
She was crusty, and ironical, and disposed to find fault.

"I wonder how long this is going to last?" she said, in the interval
between complaining and fault-finding.

"What?" Matilda asked.

"This state of thing