“It was a right word,” she continued, “that I used, when I called reading and writing ‘edge-tools.’  If our lower orders have these edge-tools given to them, we shall have the terrible scenes of the French Revolution acted over again in England.  When I was a girl, one never heard of the rights of men, one only heard of the duties.  Now, here was Mr. Gray, only last night, talking of the right every child had to instruction.  I could hardly keep my patience with him, and at length we fairly came to words; and I told him I would have no such thing as a Sunday-school (or a Sabbath-school, as he calls it, just like a Jew) in my village.”

“And what did he say, my lady?” I asked; for the struggle that seemed now to have come to a crisis, had been going on for some time in a quiet way.

“Why, he gave way to temper, and said he was bound to remember, he was under the bishop’s authority, not under mine; and implied that he should persevere in his designs, notwithstanding my expressed opinion.”

“And your ladyship—­” I half inquired.

“I could only rise and curtsey, and civilly dismiss him.  When two persons have arrived at a certain point of expression on a subject, about which they differ as materially as I do from Mr. Gray, the wisest course, if they wish to remain friends, is to drop the conversation entirely and suddenly.  It is one of the few cases where abruptness is desirable.”

I was sorry for Mr. Gray.  He had been to see me several times, and had helped me to bear my illness in a better spirit than I should have done without his good advice and prayers.  And I had gathered from little things he said, how much his heart was set upon this new scheme.  I liked him so much, and I loved and respected my lady so well, that I could not bear them to be on the cool terms to which they were constantly getting.  Yet I could do nothing but keep silence.

I suppose my lady understood something of what was passing in my mind; for, after a minute or two, she went on:—­

“If Mr. Gray knew all I know,—­if he had my experience, he would not be so ready to speak of setting up his new plans in opposition to my judgment.  Indeed,” she continued, lashing herself up with her own recollections, “times are changed when the parson of a village comes to beard the liege lady in her own house.  Why, in my grandfather’s days, the parson was family chaplain too, and dined at the Hall every Sunday.  He was helped last, and expected to have done first.  I remember seeing him take up his plate and knife and fork, and say with his mouth full all the time he was speaking:  ’If you please, Sir Urian, and my lady, I’ll follow the beef into the housekeeper’s room;’ for you see, unless he did so, he stood no chance of a second helping.  A greedy man, that parson was, to be sure!  I recollect his once eating up the whole of some little bird at dinner, and by way of diverting attention from his greediness,