‘Aunt Stanbury, he’s my brother, you know.’

‘Of course he’s your brother.  I wish he were not.’

‘I think him the best brother in the world and the best son.’

‘Why does he sell himself to write sedition?’

’He doesn’t sell himself to write sedition.  I don’t see why it should be sedition, or anything wicked, because it’s sold for a penny.’

’If you are going to cram him down my throat, Dorothy, you and I had better part.’

’I don’t want to say anything about him, only you ought not to abuse him before me.’

By this time Dorothy was beginning to sob, but Miss Stanbury’s countenance was still very grim and very stern.  ’He’s coming home to Nuncombe Putney, and I want to see see him,’ continued Dorothy.

‘Hugh Stanbury coming to Exeter!  He won’t come here.’

‘Then I’d rather go home, Aunt Stanbury.’

‘Very well, very well,’ said Miss Stanbury, and she got up and left the room.

Dorothy was in dismay, and began to think that there was nothing for her to do but to pack up her clothes and prepare for her departure.  She was very sorry for what had occurred, being fully alive to the importance of the aid not only to herself, but to her mother and sister, which was afforded by the present arrangement, and she felt very angry with herself, in that she had already driven her aunt to quarrel with her.  But she had found it to be impossible to hear her own brother abused without saying a word on his behalf.  She did not see her aunt again till dinner-time, and then there was hardly a word uttered.  Once or twice Dorothy made a little effort to speak, but these attempts failed utterly.  The old woman would hardly reply even by a monosyllable, but simply muttered something, or shook her head when she was addressed.  Jane, who waited at table, was very demure and silent, and Martha, who once came into the room during the meal, merely whispered a word into Miss Stanbury’s ear.  When the cloth was removed, and two glasses of port had been poured out by Miss Stanbury herself, Dorothy felt that she could endure this treatment no longer.  How was it possible that she could drink wine under such circumstances?

‘Not for me, Aunt Stanbury,’ said she, with a deploring tone.

‘Why not?’

‘I couldn’t drink it today.’

’Why didn’t you say so before it was poured out?  And why not today?  Come, drink it.  Do as I bid you.’  And she stood over her niece, as a tragedy queen in a play with a bowl of poison.  Dorothy took it and sipped it from mere force of obedience.  ’You make as many bones about a glass of port wine as though it were senna and salts,’ said Miss Stanbury.  ‘Now I’ve got something to say to you.’  By this time the servant was gone, and the two were seated alone together in the parlour.  Dorothy, who had not as yet swallowed above half her wine, at once put the glass down.  There was an importance in her aunt’s tone which frightened her, and made her feel that some evil was coming.  And yet, as she had made up her mind that she must return home, there was no further evil that she need dread.  ’You didn’t write any of those horrid articles?’ said Miss Stanbury.