themselves that they are fighting for a principle, fight strenuously, and maybe reckoned upon to overmatch combatants on behalf of a miserable small coin; so the cabman went away discomfited.  He used such bad language that Rhoda had no pity for him, and hearing her uncle style it “the London tongue,” she thought dispiritedly of Dahlia’s having had to listen to it through so long a season.  Dahlia was not at home; but Mrs. Wicklow, Anthony’s landlady, undertook to make Rhoda comfortable, which operation she began by praising dark young ladies over fair ones, at the same time shaking Rhoda’s arm that she might not fail to see a compliment was intended.  “This is our London way,” she said.  But Rhoda was most disconcerted when she heard Mrs. Wicklow relate that her daughter and Dahlia were out together, and say, that she had no doubt they had found some pleasant and attentive gentleman for a companion, if they had not gone purposely to meet one.  Her thoughts of her sister were perplexed, and London seemed a gigantic net around them both.

“Yes, that’s the habit with the girls up here,” said Anthony; “that’s what fine bonnets mean.”

Rhoda dropped into a bitter depth of brooding.  The savage nature of her virgin pride was such that it gave her great suffering even to suppose that a strange gentleman would dare to address her sister.  She half-fashioned the words on her lips that she had dreamed of a false Zion, and was being righteously punished.  By-and-by the landlady’s daughter returned home alone, saying, with a dreadful laugh, that Dahlia had sent her for her Bible; but she would give no explanation of the singular mission which had been entrusted to her, and she showed no willingness to attempt to fulfil it, merely repeating, “Her Bible!” with a vulgar exhibition of simulated scorn that caused Rhoda to shrink from her, though she would gladly have poured out a multitude of questions in the ear of one who had last been with her beloved.  After a while, Mrs. Wicklow looked at the clock, and instantly became overclouded with an extreme gravity.

“Eleven! and she sent Mary Ann home for her Bible.  This looks bad.  I call it hypocritical, the idea of mentioning the Bible.  Now, if she had said to Mary Ann, go and fetch any other book but a Bible!”

“It was mother’s Bible,” interposed Rhoda.

Mrs. Wicklow replied:  “And I wish all young women to be as innocent as you, my dear.  You’ll get you to bed.  You’re a dear, mild, sweet, good young woman.  I’m never deceived in character.”

Vaunting her penetration, she accompanied Rhoda to Dahlia’s chamber, bidding her sleep speedily, or that when her sister came they would be talking till the cock crowed hoarse.

“There’s a poultry-yard close to us?” said Rhoda; feeling less at home when she heard that there was not.