asked, 'Well, what did he say?'
'Never mind,' replied Emily, pettishly.
'Was it about Miss Weston?' persisted Jane.
'Not actually, but I saw it was coming,' said Emily.
'Ah!' said Jane, 'I was just telling Lily that she owes all her present favour to her having been Alethea's bosom friend.'
'I confess I thought Miss Weston was assuming authority long ago,' said Emily.
'Emily, how can you say so?' cried Lily. 'How can you be so unjust and ungrateful? I do not believe this report; but if it should be true, are not these foolish expressions of dislike so many attempts to make yourself undutiful?'
'I have rather more sincerity, more dignity, more attachment to my own mother, than to try to gain favour by affecting what I do not feel,' said Emily.
'Rather cutting, Emily,' said Jane.
'Do not give that speech an application which Emily did not intend,' said Lily, sadly.
'What makes you think I did not intend it?' said Emily, coldly.
'Emily!' exclaimed Lily, starting up, and colouring violently, 'are you thinking what you are saying?'
'I do not know what you mean,' replied Emily quietly, in her soft, unchanging voice; 'I only mean that if you can feel satisfied with the new arrangement you are more easily pleased than I am.'
'Only tell me, Emily, do you accuse me of attempting to gain favour in an unworthy manner?'
'I only congratulate you on standing so well with every one.'
Lily hid her face in her hands. At this moment Eleanor opened the door, saying, 'Can you come down? Mrs. Burnet is here.' Eleanor went without observing Lily, and Emily was obliged to follow. Jane lingered in order to comfort Lily.
'You know she did not quite mean it,' said she; 'she is only very much provoked.'
'I know, I know,' said Lily; 'she is very sorry herself by this time. Of course she did not mean it, but it is the first unkind thing she ever said to me. It is very silly, and very unjust to take it seriously, but I cannot help it.'
'It is a very abominable shame,' said Jane, 'and so I shall tell Emily.'
'No, do not, Jenny, I beg. I know she thinks so herself, and grieves too much over it. No wonder she is vexed. All my faults have come upon her. You had better go down, Jane; Mrs. Burnet is always vexed if she does not see a good many of us, and I am sure I cannot go. Besides, Emily dislikes having that girl to entertain.'
'Lily, you are so very gentle and forgiving, that I wonder how any one can say what grieves you,' said Jane, for once struck with admiration.
She went, and Lily remained, weeping over the injustice which she had forgiven, and feeling as if, all the time, it was fair that the rule of 'love' should, as it were, recoil upon her. Her tears flowed fast, as she went over the long line of faults and follies which lay heavy on her conscience. And Emily against her! That sister who, from her infancy, had soothed her in every trouble, of whose sympathy she had always felt sure, whose gentleness had been her admiration in her days of sharp answers and violent temper, who had seemed her own beyond all the others; this wound from her gave Lily a bitter feeling of desertion and loneliness. It was like a completion of her punishment- the broken reed on which she leant had pierced her deeply.
She was still sitting on the side of her bed, weeping, when a slight tap at the door made her start-a gentle tap, the sound of which she had learned to love in her illness. The next moment Alethea stood before her, with outstretched arms. This was a time to feel the value of such a friend, and every suspicion passing from her mind, she flew to Alethea, kissed her again and again, and laid her head on her shoulder. Her caress was returned with equal warmth.
'But how is this?' said Alethea, now perceiving that her face was pale, and marked by tears. 'How is this, my dear Lily?'
'Oh, Alethea! I cannot tell you, but it is all misery. The full effect of my baneful principle has appeared!'
'Has anything happened?' exclaimed Alethea.
'No,' said Lily. 'There is nothing new, except the-Oh! I cannot tell you.'
'I wish I could do anything for you, my poor Lily,' said Alethea.
'You can look kind,' said Lily, 'and that is a great comfort. Oh! Alethea, it was very kind of you to come and speak to me. I shall do now-I can bear it all better. You have a comforting face and voice like nobody else. When did you come? Have you been in the drawing-room?'
'No,' said Alethea. 'I walked here with Marianne, and finding there were visitors in the drawing- room we went to Ada, and she told me where to find you. I had something to tell you-but perhaps you know already.'
The colour on her cheek recalled all Lily's fears, and to hear the news from herself was an unexpected trial. She felt as if what she had said justified Emily's reproach, and turning away her head, replied, 'Yes, I know.'
Alethea was a little hurt by her coldness, but she ascribed it to dejection and embarrassment, and blamed herself for hurrying on what she had to tell without sufficient regard for Lily's distress. There was an awkward pause, which Alethea broke, by saying, 'Your brother thought you would like to hear it from me.'
'My brother!' cried Lily, with a most sudden change of tone. 'William? Oh, Alethea! dearest Alethea; I beg your pardon. They almost made me believe it was papa. Oh! I am so very glad!'
Alethea could not help laughing, and Lily joined her heartily. It was one of the brightest hours of her life, as she sat with her hand in her friend's, pouring out her eager expressions of delight and affection. All her troubles were forgotten-how should they not, when Alethea was to be her sister! It seemed as if but a few minutes had passed, when the sound of the great clock warned Alethea that it was time to return to Broomhill, and she asked Lilias to walk back with her. After summoning Marianne, they set out through the garden, where, on being joined by William, Lily thought it expedient to betake herself to Marianne, who was but too glad to be able freely to communicate many interesting particulars. At Broomhill she had a very enjoyable talk with Mrs. Weston, but her chief delight was in her walk home with her brother. She was high in his favour, as Alethea's chief friend. Though usually reserved, he was now open, and Lily wondered to find herself honoured with confidence. His attachment had begun in very early days, when first he knew the Westons in Brighton. Harry's death had suddenly called him away, and a few guarded expressions of his wishes in the course of the next winter had been cut short by his father. He then went to Canada, and had had no opportunity of renewing his acquaintance till the last winter, when, on coming home, to his great joy and surprise he found the Westons on the most intimate terms with his family.
He then spoke to his father, who wished him to take a little more time for consideration, and he had accordingly waited till the summer. Lily longed to know his plans for the future, and presently he went on to say that his father wished him to leave the army, live at home, and let Alethea be the head of the household.
'Oh, William! it is perfect. There is an end of all our troubles. It is as if a great black curtain was drawn up.'
'They say such plans never succeed,' said William; 'but we mean to prove the contrary.'
'How good it will be for the children!' said Lily.
'Oh! why had we not such a guide at first?'
'She has all that Eleanor wants,' said William.
'My follies were not Eleanor's fault,' said Lily; 'but I do think I should not have been quite so silly if I had known Alethea from the first.'
It was not in the power of William himself to say more in her praise than Lily. In the eagerness of their conversation they walked slowly, and as they were crossing the last field the dinner-bell rang. As they quickened their steps they saw Mr. Mohun looking at his wheat. Lily told him how late it was.
'There,' said he, 'I am always looking after other people's affairs. Between Rotherwood and William I have not a moment for my own crops. However, my turn is coming. William will have it all on his hands,
