The nest event of the visit to Fern Torr was Saunders' wedding. Saunders did not love Oakworthy, still less Mrs. Lyddell, and least of all Mrs.

Price, the ladies' maid; and when she found herself at Fern Torr again, and heard Mr. David Chapple renew his tender speeches, the return thither became more and more difficult; and one day, while plaiting her young lady's hair, she communicated to her with a great gush of tears, that, though she could not bear to think of leaving her, and would not on any account cause her any inconvenience, she began to think it was time to think about her marriage.

It was a stroke to Marian to hear of losing any old familiar face, and her look of dismay was a great satisfaction to Saunders; but she could bear it better than she could once have done, and there were reasons which made a change not so very much to be regretted even by her.

The quarrels between Saunders and the rest of the household were not agreeable, and what she now felt to be a serious evil, was that habit of complaining to her, and telling her stories against the family, of which Edmund had warned her long ago. She had tried to discourage it, but, once begun, it had never been entirely discontinued; and Marian felt it to be wrong in every way.

She made up her mind, therefore, with greater philosophy than could have been expected, to the loss of Saunders; and was further consoled by finding it gave hey an opportunity of promoting a nice young Fern Torr damsel, too delicate for hard work, who had been taught dressmaking, and whom Saunders undertook to instruct in the mysteries of the hair, quite sufficiently to carry her on till they went to London, and she could take lessons from some grand frizeur.

Mrs. Lyndell was written to, and gave her consent to the hiring of f.a.n.n.y, and Marian and Agnes were so delighted at the opening thus made for her, that Saunders would have been jealous if she had not been too happily engaged in her own preparations.

As to Gerald he made a dreadful face when he first heard of Saunders'

intentions; but as her going made no difference to his comfort, he soon became resigned. David was an old acquaintance, whom he liked because he belonged to the genus groom; so he made no objection to his sister's attending the wedding. He presented the bride with a tea-set, splendid with gilding, and surprised every one by walking into Mr. Wortley's kitchen in the midst of the bridal entertainment, and proposing the health of the happy pair.

Marian was to return under Gerald's escort, at the end of the holidays.

He was to go on to Eton, leaving her at the railway station, where she was to be met by the Lyddells' carriage. The last letter arrived, in which arrangements respecting time and train were to be finally confirmed. It was, as usual, from Caroline; and as she opened it, Marian gave a sudden start.

"Eh?" said Gerald, "whose mare's dead? Not Elliot's Queen Pomare, I hope!"

"No, but Miss Morley is going."

"O!" cried Gerald, "I hope she has been reading some more letters."

"Not quite," said Marian smiling.

"Well, but is it directly? I suppose you did not think she was to stay there for life? Has she been in any mischief, that you look so shocked?"

Marian really could not help discovering that she was not without tenderness of feeling for Miss Morley, and did not like to proclaim, in Caroline's strong and rather satirical language, across the breakfast table, that Mrs. Lyddell had discovered by accident that she and her pupil were in the habit of amusing themselves with novels which were far better unread. After reading quickly to the end of the letter, she answered, "O, she has been reading books with Clara that Mrs. Lyddell did not approve."

"A triumph! a triumph!" cried Agnes. "Now Marian will never attempt to defend Miss Morley again."

"What, not the poor unfortunate faithful? How can you think me so base?"

returned Marian. "Besides, poor thing, she really is very kind-hearted, and has very little harm in her. I dare say it was more Clara's fault than hers,"

"Well done, Marian, striking right and left!" observed James Wortley.

"How long has Miss Morley been at Oakworthy?" asked Mrs. Wortley.

"She came about a year before we did," replied Marian.

"Her predecessor, Miss Cameron, must have been a very different person; Caroline and Walter always speak of her with such respect."

"Poor unfortunate!" broke out Gerald. "Well, if it had not been for Marian's letters, I should not have hated her so much. When one was making a row, she never did anything worse than say, 'Now Sir Gerald!'"

which he gave with her peculiarly unauthoritative, piteous, imploring drawl.

"There was something in that t.i.tle of 'poor unfortunate,' peculiarly appropriate," said Marian, laughing, "as I am afraid that it is now, poor thing. She is to leave Oakworthy immediately, and I do not know that she has any relation but an old aunt."

Mr. and Mrs. Wortley agreed with Marian that it was a melancholy case, but the others were too triumphant to be compa.s.sionate; and Gerald amused Agnes half the morning with ludicrous stories of her inefficiency.

Marian was thoughtful all day; and at last, when sitting alone with Mrs.

Wortley and Agnes, exclaimed, "Poor Miss Morley! I really am very sorry for her; I did not know I liked her so well."

"Absence is the great charm with Marian," said Agnes, laughing; "we learn now what makes her so affectionate to us."

"No, but really, Agnes, when one has been living in constant intercourse for four years, and often receiving kindness from a person, is it possible to hear of her being sent away in disgrace and poverty without caring about it?"

"O yes; I know; after having lived in the same house with a kitchen poker for four years, you get so attached to it that it gives you a pang to part with it. No, but the comparison is no compliment to the poker; that is firm enough, at any rate,--a down cushion would be better."

"An attachment to a down cushion is nothing to be ashamed of, Agnes,"

said her mother.

"And Miss Morley did deserve some attachment, indeed," said Marian. "She was so ready to oblige, and she really did many and many a kind thing by the servants; and I believe she quite denied herself, for the sake of her old aunt. She was not fit for a governess, to be sure; but that was more her misfortune than her fault, poor thing."

"How do you make that out?" said Agnes.

"Why, she was obliged to got her own living; and what other way had she? She was educated for it, and had everything but the art of gaining authority."

"And high principle," said Mrs. Wortley.

"But," said Marian, growing eager in her defence, "she really did know right from wrong. She would remonstrate, and tell us things that were every word good and true, only she did it with so little force, that they were apt not to mind her; and then it was no wonder that she grew dispirited, and sunk into poor unfortunate."

"Yes," said Agnes, "I can understand it all; she was in a situation that she was not fit for, and failed."

"She would have been very different in another situation, most probably," said Mrs. Wortley, "where she and the children were not so much left to each other's mercy."

"Yes; Mrs. Lyddell never mended matters," said Marian. "She did not back up or strengthen her, but only frightened her, till she was quite as ready to conceal what was amiss as her pupils. And that intimacy with Clara was a very unlucky thing; it drew her down without drawing Clara up."

"I suppose that was the origin of the catastrophe," said Mrs. Wortley.

"I should think so; they have been more alone together lately, for I am sure this could never have happened when Caroline was in the schoolroom.

And her making a friend of Clara was no wonder, so forlorn and solitary as she must have been." And Marian sighed with fellow-feeling for her.

"An intimate, not a friend," said Mrs. Wortley.

"And I could better fancy making a friend of Miss Lyddell," said Agnes.

"I can't say my tete-a-tete with Miss Clara made me desire much more of her confidence."

"Clara is more caressing," said Marian. "I think I am most fond of her, though Caroline is--O! quite another thing. But what I wanted was to ask you, Mrs. Wortley, if you thought I might write to poor Miss Morley, and ask if there is anything I can do for her. I can't bear to think of her going away without wishing her good-bye, or showing any feeling for her in her distress."

"How very right and kind of you, Marian," exclaimed Agnes, "after all her injustice--"

"I do not think it would be advisable, my dear," said Mrs. Wortley; "it would seem like putting yourself in opposition to Mrs. Lyddell, and might be pledging yourself, in a manner, to recommend her, which, with your opinion of her, you could not well do."

"O, no, no, except in some particular case. Yes, I suppose you are right; but I don't feel happy to take no notice."

"Perhaps something may occur on your return, when you understand the matter more fully; or, at any rate, if you are writing to Oakworthy, you might send some message of farewell, kind remembrances, or love."

"Those are so unmeaning and conventional that I hate them," said Marian.

"Yes, but their want of meaning is their advantage here. They are merely kindly expressions of good will."