not some one said something
about her position? Oh yes, she had not thought of it before, but,
since she was the elder brother's daughter, she must be the heiress!
There was no doubt a grand beautiful story before her; she would
withstand all sorts of fascinations, wicked baronets and earls
innumerable, and come back and take Gerard by the hand, and say, 'Pride
was quelled and love was free.' Not that Gerard had ever uttered a
word tending in that direction since he had been seven years old, but
that would make it all the prettier; they would both be silently
constant, till the time came, perhaps when she was of age. Mother
would like it, though _that_ father would certainly be horrid. And how
nice it would be to give Gerard everything, and they would go all over
the Continent, and see pictures, and buy them, and see all the
cathedrals and all the mountains. But perhaps, since Mark Egremont had
really been so generous in hunting up the cousin who was displacing
him, she was bound in duty to marry him; perhaps he reckoned on her
doing so. She would be generous in her turn, give up all the wealth to
him, and return to do and be everything to Micklethwayte. How they
would admire and bless her. And oh! she was going to London
to-morrow--London, which she so much wished to see--Westminster Abbey,
British Museum, All Saints, National Gallery, no end of new dresses.

Half-waking, half-dreaming, she spent the night which seemed long
enough, and the light hours of the summer morning seemed still longer,
before she could call it a reasonable time for getting up. Her
splashings awoke her mother, who lay smiling for a few moments,
realising and giving thanks for her great joy, then bestirred herself
with the recollection of all that had to be done on this busy morning
before any summons from her husband could arrive.

Combining packing and dressing, like the essentially unmethodical
little woman she was, Mrs. Egremont still had all her beautiful silky
brown hair about her shoulders when the bell of St. Ambrose's was heard
giving its thin tinkling summons to matins at half-past seven. She was
disappointed; she meant to have gone for this last time, but there was
no help for it, and Nuttie set off by herself.

Gerard Godfrey was at his own door. He was not one of the regular
attendants at the short service, being of that modern species that
holds itself superior to 'Cranmer's prayers,' but on this morning he
hastened up