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Updated: June 27, 2025
Nothing will frighten my horses to-day; and, fat as he is, my coachman will not have a fit on the box!" It was only too true. Miss Minerva had not forgotten her promise. When she returned from her walk with the children, the rooms had been taken. Teresa's London lodging was within five minutes' walk of the house.
Null was about to add "I hope;" but he thought of what might happen when the two women met. As it was, Teresa's face showed signs of serious disturbance: her mind was plainly not prepared for this speedy prospect of a visit from Mrs. Gallilee. She took a letter out of her pocket. "I find a good deal of sly prudence in you," she said to Mr. Null.
They contrasted prettily enough blonde and brunette, blue eyes and black; he so bold, vigorous, and sedate, she so overflowing with tenderness and feeling; yet who can tell what is written concerning them in the stars? Amongst Teresa's acquaintances was a dapper little man who was generally known, not by his real name, but by his official title the precentor.
His first proceeding was to call at Teresa's lodgings, in the hope of hearing better news of Carmina. The melancholy report of her was expressed in two words: No change.
"You are not going with us?" cried Jane in surprise and distress. "What has happened?" "It is impossible; I cannot go with you. Pray do not ask for my reason. Good-bye. Will you say good-bye to to him for me?" Jane was silent for a long time, studying the eyes of the Spanish girl. "I think I understand," she said at last, taking Teresa's hands in hers.
Teresa's hopeful view of the future turned to the cousins, and drew the picture of two charming little girls, eagerly waiting to give their innocent hearts to their young relative from Italy. "Are there only two?" she said. "Surely you told me there was a boy, besides the girls?" Carmina set her right. "My cousin Ovid is a great doctor," she continued with an air of importance.
But I did not open a single one of them, though I found a pleasure in turning them over and over, and wondering as to what was within them. There were several in Teresa's fine hand, and these interested me most of all and tantalised me unspeakably.
Teresa's bedchamber, to which our hero constantly repaired at midnight, was the scene of their deliberations, and there it was determined that the damsel, in order to avoid suspicion, should feign herself irritated at the indifference of Ferdinand, her passion for whom was by this time no secret in the family; and that, with a view to countenance this affectation, he should upon all occasions treat her with an air of loftiness and disdain.
When the goat felt herself free, she gave a great jump and nearly jerked the rope out of Doña Teresa's hand; then she went galloping toward the gate so fast that poor Doña Teresa was all out of breath keeping up with her. "Bless my soul, but that goat goes gayly!" she panted, as she joined the Twins at the gate. "If I led her about much I should have no chance to get fat."
Teresa's Autobiography, properly speaking, is not an autobiography at all, though it ranks with The Confessions, and The Commedia, and The Grace Abounding, and The Reliquiae, as one of the very best of that great kind of book. It is not really Teresa's Life Written by Herself, though all that stands on its title-page. It is only one part of her life: it is only her life of prayer.
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