But when it came to Miss Galindo’s leaving, there was a great misunderstanding between her and my lady.  Miss Galindo had imagined that my lady had asked her as a favour to copy the letters, and enter the accounts, and had agreed to do the work without the notion of being paid for so doing.  She had, now and then, grieved over a very profitable order for needlework passing out of her hands on account of her not having time to do it, because of her occupation at the Hall; but she had never hinted this to my lady, but gone on cheerfully at her writing as long as her clerkship was required.  My lady was annoyed that she had not made her intention of paying Miss Galindo more clear, in the first conversation she had had with her; but I suppose that she had been too delicate to be very explicit with regard to money matters; and now Miss Galindo was quite hurt at my lady’s wanting to pay her for what she had done in such right-down good-will.

“No,” Miss Galindo said; “my own dear lady, you may be as angry with me as you like, but don’t offer me money.  Think of six-and-twenty years ago, and poor Arthur, and as you were to me then!  Besides, I wanted money—­I don’t disguise it—­for a particular purpose; and when I found that (God bless you for asking me!) I could do you a service, I turned it over in my mind, and I gave up one plan and took up another, and it’s all settled now.  Bessy is to leave school and come and live with me.  Don’t, please, offer me money again.  You don’t know how glad I have been to do anything for you.  Have not I, Margaret Dawson?  Did you not hear me say, one day, I would cut off my hand for my lady; for am I a stock or a stone, that I should forget kindness?  O, I have been so glad to work for you.  And now Bessy is coming here; and no one knows anything about her—­as if she had done anything wrong, poor child!”

“Dear Miss Galindo,” replied my lady, “I will never ask you to take money again.  Only I thought it was quite understood between us.  And you know you have taken money for a set of morning wrappers, before now.”

“Yes, my lady; but that was not confidential.  Now I was so proud to have something to do for you confidentially.”

“But who is Bessy?” asked my lady.  “I do not understand who she is, or why she is to come and live with you.  Dear Miss Galindo, you must honour me by being confidential with me in your turn!”

CHAPTER XIII.

I had always understood that Miss Galindo had once been in much better circumstances, but I had never liked to ask any questions respecting her.  But about this time many things came out respecting her former life, which I will try and arrange:  not however, in the order in which I heard them, but rather as they occurred.