'Now, John, be not so impatient,' my mother replied, quite calmly, for in truth she was jealous of Lorna, 'you could wait now, very well, John, if it were till this day week, for the coming of your mother, John. And yet your mother is your best friend. Who can ever fill her place?'
Thinking of her future absence, mother turned away and cried; and the box-iron singed the blanket.
'Now,' said I, being wild by this time; 'Lizzie, you have a little sense; will you tell me where is Lorna?'
'The Lady Lorna Dugal,' said Lizzie, screwing up her lips as if the title were too grand, 'is gone to London, brother John; and not likely to come back again. We must try to get on without her.'
'You little--[something]' I cried, which I dare not write down here, as all you are too good for such language; but Lizzie's lip provoked me so--'my Lorna gone, my Lorna gone! And without good-bye to me even! It is your spite has sickened her.'
'You are quite mistaken there,' she replied; 'how can folk of low degree have either spite or liking towards the people so far above them? The Lady Lorna Dugal is gone, because she could not help herself; and she wept enough to break ten hearts--if hearts are ever broken, John.'
'Darling Lizzie, how good you are!' I cried, without noticing her sneer; 'tell me all about it, dear; tell me every word she said.'
'That will not take long,' said Lizzie, quite as unmoved by soft coaxing as by urgent cursing; 'the lady spoke very little to any one, except indeed to mother, and to Gwenny Carfax; and Gwenny is gone with her, so that the benefit of that is lost. But she left a letter for "poor John," as in charity she called him. How grand she looked, to be sure, with the fine clothes on that were come for her!'
'Where is the letter, you utter vixen! Oh, may you have a husband!'
'Who will thresh it out of you, and starve it, and swear it out of you!' was the meaning of my imprecation: but Lizzie, not dreaming as yet of such things, could not understand me, and was rather thankful; therefore she answered quietly,-'The letter is in the little cupboard, near the head of Lady Lorna's bed, where she used to keep the diamond necklace, which we contrived to get stolen.'
Without another word I rushed (so that every board in the house shook) up to my lost Lorna's room, and tore the little wall-niche open and espied my treasure. It was as simple, and as homely, and loving, as even I could wish. Part of it ran as follows,--the other parts it behoves me not to open out to strangers:--'My own love, and sometime lord,--Take it not amiss of me, that even without farewell, I go; for I cannot persuade the men to wait, your return being doubtful. My great-uncle, some grand lord, is awaiting me at Dunster, having fear of venturing too near this Exmoor country. I, who have been so lawless always, and the child of outlaws, am now to atone for this, it seems, by living in a court of law, and under special surveillance (as they call it, I believe) of His Majesty's Court of Chancery. My uncle is appointed my guardian and master; and I must live beneath his care, until I am twenty-one years old. To me this appears a dreadful thing, and very unjust, and cruel; for why should I lose my freedom, through heritage of land and gold? I offered to abandon all if they would only let me go; I went down on my knees to them, and said I wanted titles not, neither land, nor money; only to stay where I was, where first I had known happiness. But they only laughed and called me "child," and said I must talk of that to the King's High Chancellor. Their orders they had, and must obey them; and Master Stickles was ordered too, to help as the King's Commissioner. And then, although it pierced my heart not to say one "goodbye, John," I was glad upon the whole that you were not here to dispute it. For I am almost certain that you would not, without force to yourself, have let your Lorna go to people who never, never can care for her.'