Deborah's sobs, and
the children's frightened weeping, were all the sounds that could be
heard; Rose was obliged to attempt to soothe them, but her first kind
word to Deborah produced a fresh burst of violent weeping, and then a
loud lamentation: "Oh! the rogue--the rogue. If I could have dreamt
it!"
"What has she done?" exclaimed Walter, impatiently. "Come, stop your
crying. What have you done, Deb?"
"I thought--Oh! if I had known what was in the villain!" continued
Deborah, "I'd sooner have bit out my tongue than have said one word
to him about the pigeon pie."
"Pigeon pie!" repeated Rose.
Lucy now gave a cry, for she was, with all her faults, a truth-
telling child. "Mother! mother! I told Deb about the pigeon pie!
Oh, what have I done? Was it for Edmund? Is Edmund here?"
And to increase the danger and perplexity, the other two children
exclaimed together, "Is Edmund here?"
"Hush, hush, my dears, be quiet; I cannot answer you now," whispered
Lady Woodley, trying to silence them by caresses, and looking with
terror at the rigid, stern guard, who, instead of remaining at the
door where he had been posted, had come close up to them, and sat
himself down at the end of the table, as if to catch every word they
uttered.
Eleanor and Charles obeyed their mother's command that they should be
silent; Rose took Lucy on her lap, let her rest her head on her
shoulder, and whispered to her that she should hear and tell all
another time, but she must be quiet now, and listen.
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