g sin, and struggling with the
weakness of her humanity so that she might not allow herself to hate
the sinners. But her hatred for the sin she found herself bound at
all times to pronounce--to show it by some act at all seasons. To
fight the devil was her work--was the appointed work of every living
soul, if only living souls could be made to acknowledge the necessity
of the task. Now an aunt of that kind, when she assumes her duties
towards a motherless niece, is apt to make life serious.

But, it will be said, Clara Amedroz could have rebelled; and Clara's
father was hardly made of such stuff that obedience to the aunt would
be enforced on her by parental authority. Doubtless Clara could
have rebelled against her aunt. Indeed, I do not know that she had
hitherto been very obedient. But there were family facts about these
Winterfield connections which would have made it difficult for her
to ignore her so-called aunt, even had she wished to do so. Mrs.
Winterfield had twelve hundred a year at her own disposal, and she
was the only person related to the Amedroz family from whom Mr.
Amedroz had a right to have expectations on his daughter's behalf.
Clara had, in a measure, been claimed by the lady, and the father had
made good the lady's claim, and Clara had acknowledged that a portion
of her life was due to the demands of Perivale. These demands had
undoubtedly made her life serious.

Life at Perivale was a very serious thing. As regards amusement,
ordinarily so called, the need of any such institution was not
acknowledged at Prospect House. Food, drink, and raiment were
acknowledged to be necessary to humanity, and, in accordance with the
rules of that house, they were supplied in plenty, and good of their
kind. Such ladies as Mrs. Winterfield generally keep good tables,
thinking no doubt that the eatables should do honour to the grace
that is said for them. And Mrs. Winterfield herself always wore a
thick black silk dress,--not rusty or dowdy with age,--but with
some gloss of the silk on it; giving away, with secret, underhand,
undiscovered charity, her old dresses to another lady of her own
sort, on whom fortune had not bestowed twelve hundred a year. And
Mrs. Winterfield kept a low, four-wheeled, one-horsed little phaeton,
in which she made her pilgrimages among the poor of Perivale, driven
by the most solemn of stable-boys, dressed up in a white great coat,
the most priggish of hats, and white cotton gloves. At t