through, I rose to depart; but each lady
seemed to wish to have a private conference
with me. Miss Pole kept me in the drawingroom
to explain why, in Mrs. Jamieson's
absence, she had taken the lead in this
"movement," as she was pleased to call it, and
also to inform me that she had heard from
good sources, that Mrs. Jamieson was coming
home directly in a state of high displeasure
against her sister-in-law, who was forthwith
to leave her house; and was, she believed, to
return to Edinburgh that very afternoon. Of
course this piece of intelligence could not be
communicated before Mrs. Fitz-Adam, more
especially as Miss Pole was inclined to think
that Lady Glenmire's engagement to Mr.
Hoggins could not possibly hold against the
blaze of Mrs. Jamieson's displeasure. A few
hearty enquiries after Miss Matey's health
concluded my interview with Miss Pole. On
coming downstairs I found Mrs. Forrester
waiting for me at the entrance to the dining
parlour; she drew me in, and when the door
was shut, she tried two or three times to
begin on some subject, which was so
unapproachable apparently, that I began to
despair of our ever getting to a clear
understanding. At last out it came; the poor old
lady trembling all the time as if it were a
great crime which she was exposing to daylight,
in telling me how very, very little she
had to live upon; a confession which she was
brought to make from a dread lest we should
think that the small contribution named in
her paper bore any proportion to her love
and regard for Miss Matey. And yet that
sum which she so eagerly relinquished was
in truth more than a twentieth part of what
she had to live upon, and keep house, and a
little serving-maiden, all as became one born
a Tyrell. And when the whole income does
not nearly amount to a hundred pounds, to
give up a twentieth of it will necessitate
many careful economies, and many pieces of
self-denial small and insignificant in the
world's account, but bearing a different value
in another account-book that I have heard of.
She did so wish she was rich, she said; and this
wish she kept repeating with no thought of
herself in it, only with a longing, yearning
desire to be able to heap up Miss Matey's
measure of comforts. It was some time
before I could console her enough to leave
her; and then, on quitting the house, I was
waylaid by Mrs. Fitz-Adam, who had also her
confidence to make of pretty nearly the opposite
description. She had not liked to put
down all that she could afford, and was ready
to give. She told me she thought she never
could look Miss Matey in the face again if
she presumed to be giving her so much as
she should like to do. "Miss Matey!"
continued she, "that I thought was such a fine
young lady, when I was nothing but a
country girl, coming to market with eggs and
butter and such like things; for my father,
though well to do, would always make me go
on as my mother had done before me; and I
had to come in to Cranford every Saturday
and see after sales and prices, and what not.
And one day I remember I met Miss Matey
in the lane that leads to Combehurst; she
was walking on the footpath which, you know,
is raised a good way above the road, and a
gentleman rode beside her, and was talking
to her, and she was looking down at some
primroses she had gathered, and pulling them
all to pieces, and I do believe she was crying.
But after she had passed me she turned round
and ran after me to ask—oh so kindly—after
rny poor mother, who lay on her death-bed,
and when I cried she took hold of my hand
to comfort me; and the gentleman waiting
for her all the time; and her poor heart
very full of something I am sure, and I
thought it such an honour to be spoken to in
that pretty way by the rector's daughter, who
visited at Arley Hall. I have loved her ever
since, though perhaps I'd no right to do it;
but if you can think of any way in which I
might be allowed to give a little more with-
out any one knowing it, I should be so much
obliged to you, my dear. And my brother
would be delighted to doctor her for nothing
—medicines, leeches and all. I know that he
and her ladyship—(my dear! I little thought
in the days I was telling you of that I should
ever come to be sister-in-law to a ladyship!)
—would do anything for her. We all would."

I told her I was quite sure of it, and
promised all sorts of things in my anxiety to get
home to Miss Matey, who might well be
wondering what had become of me, absent from
her two hours without being able to account
for it. She had taken very little note of time,
however, as she had been occupied in
numberless little arrangements preparatory to the
great step of giving up her house. It was
evidently a relief to her to be doing
something in the way of retrenchment; for, as
she said, whenever she paused to think, the
recollection of the poor fellow with his bad
five-pound note came over her, and she felt
quite dishonest; only if it made her so
uncomfortable, what must it not be doing to the
directors of the Bank, who must know so
much more of the misery consequent upon
its failure. She almost made me angry by
dividing her sympathy between these directors
(whom she imagined overwhelmed by
selfreproach for their mismanagement of other
people's affairs), and those who were suffering
like her. Indeed, of the two, she seemed to
think poverty a lighter burden than
self-reproach; but I privately doubted if the
directors would agree with her.

Old hoards were taken out and examined
as to their money value, which luckily was
small, or else I don't know how Miss Matey
would have prevailed upon herself to part with
such things as her mother's wedding-ring,
the strange uncouth brooch with which her
father had disfigured his shirt-frill, &c.
However, we arranged things a little in order as