ainst all Nonconforming folks. 'And there be some,' she
said, 'who have spoken very evil things of us here at the Grange. I
warrant you it will not be long that we shall be suffered to have family
worship if our labouring men share in it as they are used to do; nor can
Mr. Truelocke so much as expound a Psalm to us and them, but it shall
straight be said we hold a conventicle here.'

'Surely,' says Althea, very pale, 'the gentlemen who now rule the
country are too proud-spirited, too noble, to intermeddle with such
matters; what is it to them how we say our prayers in our own houses?
Abroad, there may be need of a decent face of uniformity, and some open
outrageous follies may require to be put down strongly'--She stopped,
and Aunt Golding said,--

'Ah, child, thou little knowest. I have not yet heard of any outrageous
follies that our poor Andrew has run into; yet I am told, and I fear
it's true, that if he were to show his face openly in West Fazeby
to-morrow, his next lodging might be in York Castle, where he should lie
in the foulest den they could find for him, and have the worst company
to boot. Nor will it be very safe here for our good Mr. Truelocke, who
now talks of taking his journey to certain worthy kinsfolk of his that
are farmers in the Dale country, there he may live in a peaceful
obscurity; but his chief aim is to avoid bringing troubles on our
house.'

It struck me cruelly to think of Harry's father leaving us, but I had no
time to dwell on the thought, for now Althea sank down at my feet,
helpless and senseless like one who was dead indeed; and much ado we
had to bring her out of her swoon, which was very long, and she very
feeble when she was recovered from it. We got her to her room, and
persuaded her to lie down and sleep; and when we came away, Aunt Golding
turns to me with a puzzled look, saying,--

'What means this, Lucy? I never thought your sister one of those fine
ladies who swoon for every trifle;--what is it, think you?'

'Andrew,' says I, 'and the image of his danger; you made a frightful
picture of it, dear madam, do you know?'

'Ah, set a thief to catch a thief!' says Aunt Golding, and I felt glad
to hear her laugh once more; 'my love-passages are of too ancient a date
to serve me, it seems, but yours are fresh and new, my Lucy. But what of
Andrew? is Althea dear to him?'

'More dear than he knows, or she guesses,' quoth I; at which our good
aunt laughed again, but then said,--