?"

"Charlotte, what a shameful thing to say!"

"Precisely what you have just said to mother."

"Supposing Julius dead! I never heard such a cruel thing. I dare say it
would delight you."

"No, it would not; for Julius is not fit to die."

"Mother, I will not be insulted in my own house in such a way. Speak to
Charlotte, or I must tell Julius."

"What have you come to say, Sophia?"

"I came to talk pleasantly, to see you, and"--

"You saw me an hour or two since, and were very rude and unkind. But if
you regret it, my dear, it is forgiven."

"I do not know what there is to forgive. But really, Charlotte and you
seem so completely unhappy and dissatisfied here, that I should think
you would make a change."

"Do you mean that you wish me to go?"

"If you put words into my mouth."

"It is not worth while affecting either regret or offence, Sophia. How
soon do you wish us to leave?"

The dowager mistress of Sandal-Side had stood up as she asked the
question. She was quite calm, and her manner even cold and indifferent.
"If you wish us to go to-day, it is still possible. I can walk as far as
the rectory. For your father's sake, the rector will make us
welcome.--Charlotte, my bonnet and cloak!"

"Mother! I think such threats very uncalled for. What will people say?
And how can poor Julius defend himself against two ladies? I call it
taking advantage of us."

"'Taking advantage?' Oh, no! Oh, no!--Charlotte, my dear, give me my
cloak."

The little lady was not to be either frightened or entreated; and she
deigned Julius--who had been hastily summoned by Sophia--no answer,
either to his arguments or his apologies.

"It is enough," she cried, with a slight quiver in her voice, "it is
enough! You turn me out of the home he gave me. Do you think that the
dead see not? know not? You will find out, you will find out." And so,
leaning upon Charlotte's arm, she walked slowly down the stairway, and
into the dripping, soaking, gloomy afternoon. It was indeed wretched
weather. A thick curtain of mist filled all the atmosphere, and made of
daylight only a diluted darkness, in which it was hard to distinguish
the skeletons of the trees which winter had stripped. The mountains had
disappeared; there was no sky; a veil of chilling moisture and
depressing gloom was over every thing. But neither Charlotte nor her
mother was at that hour conscious of such inoffensive disagreeables.
They were trembling with anger and sorrow