understand. I had to come, although for the time
father has forbidden us to speak with you--"

Hetty stepped to the door and held it open. "Then one of his
daughters at any rate shall be dutiful," she said.

Molly flung her an imploring look and walked out, sobbing.

"Is Hetty not coming down to supper?" Emilia asked in the kitchen
that evening. Mrs. Wesley with her daughters and Johnny Whitelamb
supped there as a rule when not entertaining visitors. The Rector
took his meals alone, in the parlour.

"Your father has locked her in. Until to-morrow he forbids her to
have anything but bread and water," answered Mrs. Wesley.

"And she is twenty-seven years old," added Molly.

All looked at her; even Johnny Whitelamb looked, with a face as long
as a fiddle. The comment was quiet, but the note of scorn in it
could not be mistaken. Molly in revolt! Molly, of all persons!
Molly sat trembling. She knew that among them all Johnny was her one
ally--and a hopelessly distressed and ineffective one. He had turned
his head quickly and leaned forward, blinking and spreading his
hands--though the season was high summer--to the cold embers of the
kitchen fire; his heart torn between adoration of Hetty and the old
dog-like worship of his master.

"Molly dear, she has deceived him and us all," was Mrs. Wesley's
reproof, unexpectedly gentle.

"For my part," put in Nancy comfortably, "I don't suppose she would
care to come down. And 'tis cosy to be back in the kitchen again,
after ten days of the parlour and Mrs. Sam. Emmy agrees, I know."

But Emmy with fine composure put aside this allusion to her pet foe.
"Molly and Johnny should make a match of it," she sneered.
"They might set up house on their belief in Hetty, and even take her
to lodge with them."

John Whitelamb sprang up as if stung; stood for a moment, still with
his face averted upon the fire; then, while all stared at him, let
drop the arm he had half-lifted towards the mantel-shelf and relapsed
into his chair. He had not uttered a sound.

Mrs. Wesley had a reproof upon her tongue, and this time a sharp one.
She was prevented, however, by Molly, who rose to her feet, tottered
to the door as if wounded, and escaped from the kitchen.

Molly mounted the stairs with bowed head, dragging herself at each
step by the handrail. Reaching the garrets, she paused by Hetty's
door to listen. No light pierced the chinks; within was silence.
She crept away to her r