er eyes her mother had always the mien of a
goddess.

For her mother's character, too, she had the deepest, tenderest
respect. But it was the respect of a critic rather than of a child,
and touched with humorous wonder. She knew her firmness of judgment,
her self-control, her courage in poverty, the secret ardent piety
illuminating her commonest daily actions; she knew how perfectly
designed that character was for masculine needs, how strong for
guidance the will even in yielding--but alas! how feeble to help a
daughter!

"Your father is riding to Lincoln," said Mrs. Wesley as she drew
near. Hetty scanned her closely, but read no encouragement in her
face. She fell back on the tone she had used with Emilia and Nancy;
knowing, however, that this time it would not be misunderstood.
"I saw that he had taken his cloak with him," she answered.
"Be frank with me, mother. You would be frank, you know, with Jacky
or Charles, if they were in trouble; whereas now you are not looking
me in the face, and your own is white."

Mrs. Wesley did not answer, but walked with Hetty back to the tree
and, at a sign, seated herself on the bank beside her, with her eyes
on the road.

"I have been sitting here for quite a long time," began Hetty, after
a pause, and went on lightly. "Before father passed a tradesman went
by--a man called Wright." She paused again as Mrs. Wesley's hands
made an involuntary movement in her lap. "He has a bill against
father; he called with it on the evening you came back from London.
Is father riding after him to pay it?"

"What do you know of that man?" Mrs. Wesley muttered, with her head
turned aside and her hands working.

"Very little; yet enough to suspect more than you guess," said Hetty
calmly.

But her mother showed her now a face she had not looked to see.

"You know, then?--but no, you cannot!"

It was Hetty's turn to show a face of alarm. "What is it, dear? I
thought--indeed I know--he had a notion about me--how I was
behaving--and wrote a letter to father. But that cannot matter now.
Is there anything worse? I understood he had merely an account
against father; an ordinary bill. It _is_ something worse--oh, tell
me! Father is riding after him! I see it in your face. What is
this trouble which I have added to?"

"The debt is paid, I believe," answered Mrs. Wesley; but she shook as
she said it.

"Yet father is riding after him. What is the matter? Let me see
your eyes!"