er-fancifulness, and ignorance as to their own good. Now
when she heard the story of Brooke Burgess, she could not but think
that had Dorothy remained at Exeter, enduring patiently such hard
words as her aunt might speak, the love affair might have been
brought at some future time to a happy conclusion. She did not say
all this; but there came on her a silent melancholy, made expressive
by constant little shakings of the head and a continued reproachful
sadness of demeanour, which was quite as intelligible to Priscilla
as would have been any spoken words. But Priscilla's approval of her
sister's conduct was clear, outspoken, and satisfactory. She had been
quite sure that her sister had been right about Mr. Gibson; and was
equally sure that she was now right about Brooke Burgess. Priscilla
had in her mind an idea that if B. B., as they called him, was half
as good as her sister represented him to be,--for indeed Dorothy
endowed him with every virtue consistent with humanity,--he would
not be deterred from his pursuit either by Dolly's letter or by Aunt
Stanbury's commands. But of this she thought it wise to say nothing.
She paid Dolly the warm and hitherto unaccustomed compliment of
equality, assuming to regard her sister's judgment and persistent
independence to be equally strong with her own; and, as she knew
well, she could not have gone further than this. "I never shall agree
with you about Aunt Stanbury," she said. "To me she seems to be so
imperious, so exacting, and also so unjust, as to be unbearable."

"But she is affectionate," said Dolly.

"So is the dog that bites you, and, for aught I know, the horse that
kicks you. But it is ill living with biting dogs and kicking horses.
But all that matters little as you are still your own mistress. How
strange these nine months have been, with you in Exeter, while we
have been at the Clock House. And here we are, together again in the
old way, just as though nothing had happened." But Dorothy knew well
that a great deal had happened, and that her life could never be as
it had been heretofore. The very tone in which her sister spoke to
her was proof of this. She had an infinitely greater possession in
herself than had belonged to her before her residence at Exeter; but
that possession was so heavily mortgaged and so burthened as to make
her believe that the change was to be regretted.

At the end of the first week there came a letter from Aunt Stanbury
to Dorothy. It b