I have forgiven her; it shall certainly not
influence our future conduct towards her,
except to make us endeavour to remove the
—the unhappiness, if you will—that caused
it.

Miss Mackaveth concluded by again thanking
me very warmly for my conduct towards
her pupil, and promised to let me hear about
her from time to time. Little Jeannette's
adieu to me was of a tenderer kind than I
had expected. I left with her my direction,
which was then at a country vicarage not
very far from Carlisle, and begged her to
write, and even to come to us, if in any real
trouble. My wife and the girls, I well knew,
would welcome her in her affliction, as though
she were a daughter or a sister of their own.
She was bathed in tears, and called me
"father, dear darling father," in the French
tongue, as her custom was when excited,
repeatedly. Poor child! She was considered
reserved and secretive; but I fear there
was but little at Laburnum Lodge to elicit
much demonstration of affection.

Not very long after this circumstance, I
was translated, unexpectedly, to a London
benefice of considerable station and
emolument. A distant cousin of my wife, Lord
Bactsares, was the first who wrote to tell us
of this good fortune; and she has ever since,
from a pardonable vanity, ascribed it to the
fact of their relationship; whereas it is,
without doubt, owing to the bishop's
approbation of my work on Christian Ethics
(Withnocaws, Hopeful, & Co., Oxford),
published in eighteen hundred and thirty, and
triumphantly disproves the idea of merit
in the church going unrewarded. It—the
preferment, not the Ethics—made rather a
noise in our country neighbourhood; and
among many pleasant letters of congratulation,
the pleasantest to my mind was one
from the little friendless orphan of Carlisle.
She had refused our invitation to spend the
last midsummer holidays with us at Scawdale,
because, I verily believe, she knew
we could scarcely afford to have visitors
there; but, upon our accession to comparative
affluence, my wife wrote, at my desire, the
next year, to ask her up to town; and up
little Jeannette came.

She had grown into a most distinguished-
looking young woman, and had
certainly taken every advantage of the
accomplishments imparted by the Misses Mackaveth.
She was conversant with all the modern
languages, of which French, indeed, seemed to
be her natural dialect more than ever. She
sketched, she painted, she fabricated old oak
frames out of what appeared to be shoe-
leather, and very ancient china out of chintz
and physic-bottles. She wore—and I am
sure this was an art—little artificial whiskers
to stick her hair out with, so dexterously,
that, instead of poking themselves out
officiously, like the stuffing of a lodging-house
sofa, they positively improved her appearance.
She played—ah, how little Jeannette
did play!—upon the harp, the organ, and the
piano-forte. I have seen her sweep the keys
of this last instrument so skilfully, and build
up towering passion, and haughtiness, and
imperial splendour extemporaneously, in such
a manner as to draw forth the admiration of
an entire company. That coldness and
secretiveness of which her mistress spoke was
certainly not to be discovered now, if it had
ever existed. Of herself and her condition
she would converse most freely, and it
was a delight to her to excite the praise and
wonder of others; because, as she said, of the
pleasure that she knew it gave to us. Our
parties—for we now had pretty frequent parties—
would not have been half so attractive, it was
owned, without her presence; and even my
church obtained in her an organist such as
scarcely any money could have procured.
Before the end of her six weeks' vacation, it
was arranged between the Mackaveths and
ourselves that Miss Jeannette should not
return to Carlisle.

At this time, there occurred the first
symptom in my ward of a characteristic
which was afterwards magnified into
ingratitude and want of heart. She
refused to write a single line to her late
mistress. "I cannot say I am sorry to
leave her; I cannot thank her for kindnesses
I have never received," said she. The
poor girl's regard for truth was excessive,
and her sense of neglect keen. I had also,
by the bye, a letter from Miss Mackaveth in
exchange for mine, written, as I fear, with a
design to prejudice me against Jeannette;
though couched in expressions favourable
to myself, and under the pretence of a
friendly warning. Having burnt this (and I
hope forgotten it) almost immediately after
its perusal, I remember nothing distinctly;
but, as so many have since set themselves
(most unjustly) against my ward, I don't
wish them to have it to say that I have
concealed anything whatever, that may seem to
tell against her in this account. If there had
been any difference heretofore between our
treatment of her and of our own daughters,
there was certainly none from this time
forth. As we had an endearing name for
Hester and for Gertrude, so sister Jeannette
was called Jenny by us all, for love and
shortness. She was introduced to our old
friends by the same title to put her at once
upon a familiar footing. Her birthday we
could not keep, because we didn't know it;
but we kept the day whereon I first met
her in the train, instead. If she dressed
better than my real daughters it must have
been owing to her superior taste, for she had
the same allowance. Thus little Jeannette
lived with us for years.

Among the friends who were accustomed
to visit us pretty constantly, was a certain
young barrister of the name of Hartley;