The school became a burthen instead of a delight, and her attendance there a fatigue.  On going in one Sunday morning, very late, she found Alethea teaching her class as well as her own.  With a look of vexation she inquired, as she took her place, if it was so very late, and on the way to church she said again, ’I thought I was quite in time; I do not like to hurry the children—­the distant ones have not time to come.  It was only half-past nine.’

‘Oh, Lilias,’ said Marianne, ’it was twenty minutes to ten, I know, for I had just looked at the clock.’

‘That clock is always too fast,’ said Lily.

The next Sunday was very cold, and Lilias did not feel at all disposed to leave the fire when the others prepared to go to the afternoon school.

‘Is it time?’ said she.  ’I was chilled at church, and my feet are still like ice; I will follow you in five minutes.’

Alethea went, and Lilias lingered by the fire.  Mrs. Weston once asked her if she knew how late it was; but still she waited, until she was startled by the sound of the bell for evening service.  As she went to church with Mrs. Weston and Emily she met Jane, who told her that her class had been unemployed all the afternoon.

‘I would have taken them,’ said she, ’but that Robert does not like me to teach the great girls, and I do think Alethea might have heard them.’

‘It is very provoking,’ said Lily, pettishly; ’I thought I might depend—­’ She turned and saw Miss Weston close to her.  ’Oh, Alethea!’ said she, ‘I thought you would have heard those girls.’

‘I thought you were coming,’ said Alethea.

’So I was, but I am sure the bell rang too early.  I do wish you had taken them, Alethea.’

‘I am sorry you are vexed,’ said Alethea, simply.

’What makes you think I am vexed?  I only thought you liked hearing my class.’

They were by this time at the church door, and as they entered Alethea blamed herself for feeling grieved, and Lily awoke to a sense of her unreasonableness.  She longed to tell Alethea how sorry she felt, but she had no opportunity, and she resolved to go to Broomhill the next day to make her confession.  In the night, however, snow began to fall, and the morning showed the February scene of thawing snow and pouring rain.  Going out was impossible, both on that day and the next.  Wednesday dawned fair and bright; but just after breakfast Lily received a little note, with the intelligence that Mr. Weston had arrived at Broomhill on Monday evening, and with his wife and daughters was to set off that very day to make a visit to some friends on the way to London.  Had not the weather been so bad, Alethea said she should have come to take leave of her New Court friends on Tuesday, but she could now only send this note to tell them how sorry she was to go without seeing them, and to beg Emily to send back a piece of music which she had