“Certainly.”

Sister Gratiosa was sent for, and, in reply to Little’s anxious inquiries, told him that Sister Amata had been very much shaken by the terrible events of the night, and absolute repose was necessary to her.  In further conversation she told him she was aware of Sister Amata’s unhappy story, and had approved her retirement from Hillsborough, under all the circumstances; but that now, after much prayer to God for enlightenment, she could not but think it was the Sister’s duty, as a Christian woman, to stay at home and nurse the afflicted man whose name she bore, and above all devote herself to his spiritual welfare.

“Oh, that is your notion, is it?” said Henry.  “Then you are no friend of mine.”

“I am no enemy of yours, nor of any man, I hope.  May I ask you one question, without offense?”

“Certainly.”

“Have you prayed to God to guide you in this difficulty?”

“No.”

“Then seek his throne without delay; and, until you have done so, do not rashly condemn my views of this matter, since I have sought for wisdom where alone it is to be found.”

Henry chafed under this; but he commanded his temper, though with difficulty, and said, “Will you take a line to her from me?”

The Sister hesitated.  “I don’t know whether I ought,” said she.

“Oh, then the old game of intercepting letters is to be played.”

“Not by me:  after prayer I shall be able to say Yes or No to your request.  At present, being at a distance from my Superior, I must needs hesitate.”

“Right and wrong must have made very little impression on your mind, if you don’t know whether you ought to take a letter to a woman from a man who has just saved her life—­or not.”

The lady colored highly, courtesied, and retired without a word.

Little knew enough of human nature to see that the Sister would not pray against feminine spite; he had now a dangerous enemy in the house, and foresaw that Grace would be steadily worked on through her religious sentiments.

He went away, sick with disappointment, jealousy, and misgivings, hired a carriage, and drove at once to Raby Hall.

CHAPTER XLVIII.

Mrs. Little saw her son arrive, met him in the hall, and embraced him, with a great cry of maternal joy, that did his heart good for a moment.

He had to tell her all; and, during the recital, she often clasped him to her bosom.

When he had told her all, she said:  “Much as I love you, darling, I am ready to part with you for good:  there is a cure for all your griefs; there is a better woman in this house than ever Grace Carden was or will be.  Be a man; shake off these miserable trammels; leave that vacillating girl to nurse her villain, and marry the one I have chosen for you.”

Henry shook his head.  “What! when a few months perhaps will free my Grace from her incumbrance.  Mother, you are giving me bad advice for once.”