What was she to do?  To have recourse to Priscilla for advice was her first idea; but she herself believed that she owed a debt of gratitude to her aunt, which Priscilla would not take into account—­the existence of which Priscilla would by no means admit.  She knew Priscilla’s mind in this matter, and was sure that Priscilla’s advice, whatever it might be, would be given without any regard to her aunt’s views.  And then Dorothy was altogether ignorant of her aunt’s views.  Her aunt had been very anxious that she should marry Mr Gibson, but had clearly never admitted into her mind the idea that she might possibly marry Brooke Burgess; and it seemed to her that she herself would be dishonest, both to her aunt and to her lover, if she were to bind this man to herself without her aunt’s knowledge.  He was to be her aunt’s heir, and she was maintained by her aunt’s liberality!  Thinking of all this, she at last resolved that she would take the bull by the horns, and tell her aunt.  She felt that the task would be one almost beyond her strength.  Thrice she went into her aunt’s room, intending to make a clean breast; Thrice her courage failed her, and she left the room with her tale untold, excusing herself on various pretexts.  Her aunt had seemed to be not quite so well, or had declared herself to be tired, or had been a little cross or else Martha had come in at the nick of time.  But there was Brooke Burgess’s letter unanswered, a letter that was read night and morning, and which was never for an instant out of her mind.  He had demanded a reply, and he had a right at least to that.  The letter had been with her for four entire days before she had ventured to speak to her aunt on the subject.

On the first of March Miss Stanbury came out of her bed-room for the first time.  Dorothy, on the previous day, had decided on postponing her communication for this occasion; but, when she found herself sitting in the little sitting-room up stairs close at her aunt’s elbow, and perceived the signs of weakness which the new move had made conspicuous, and heard the invalid declare that the little journey had been almost too much for her, her heart misgave her.  She ought to have told her tale while her aunt was still in bed.  But presently there came a question, which put her into such a flutter that she was for the time devoid of all resolution.  ‘Has Brooke written?’ said Miss Stanbury.

‘Yes aunt; he has written.’

‘And what did he say?’ Dorothy was struck quite dumb.  ’Is there anything wrong?’ And now, as Miss Stanbury asked the question, she seemed herself to have forgotten that she had two minutes before declared herself to be almost too feeble to speak.  ’I’m sure there is something wrong.  What is it?  I will know’

‘There is nothing wrong, Aunt Stanbury’

‘Where is the letter?  Let me see it.’

‘I mean there is nothing wrong about him.’

‘What is it, then?’

‘He is quite well, Aunt Stanbury.’