The poor girl soon learned from the intended consolations of those around her, from the ill-considered kindness of the pupils, and from words which fell from the servants, that her father had in fact been judged to be guilty, as far as judgment had as yet gone.  ’They do say, miss, it’s only because he hadn’t a lawyer,’ said the house-keeper.  And if men so kind as Lord Lufton and Mr Walker had made him out to be guilty, what could be expected from a stern judge down from London, who would know nothing about her poor father and his peculiarities, and from twelve jurymen who would be shopkeepers out of Barchester.  It would kill her father, and then it would kill her mother; and after that it would kill her also.  And there was no money in the house at home.  She knew it well.  She had been paid three pounds a month for her services at the school, and the money for the last two months had been sent to her mother.  Yet, badly as she wanted anything that she might be able to earn, she knew that she could not go on teaching.  It had come to be acknowledged by both the Miss Prettymans that any teaching on her part at the present was impossible.  She would go home and perish with the rest of them.  There was no room left for hope to her, or to any of her family.  They had accused her father of being a common thief—­her father whom she knew to be so nobly honest, her father whom she believed to be among the most devoted of God’s servants.  He was accused of a paltry theft, and the magistrates and lawyers and policemen among them had decided that the accusation was true!  How could she look the girls in the face after that, or attempt to hold her own among the teachers!

On the next morning there came a letter from Miss Lily Dale, and with that in her hand she again went to Miss Prettyman.  She must go home, she said.  She must at any rate go to her mother.  Could Miss Prettyman be kind enough to send her home.  ‘I haven’t sixpence to pay for anything,’ she said, bursting into tears; ‘and I haven’t a right to ask for it.’  Then the statements which Miss Prettyman made in her eagerness to cover this latter misfortune were decidedly false.  There was so much money owing to Grace, she said; money for this, money for that, money for anything or nothing!  Ten pounds would hardly clear the account.  ’Nobody owes me anything; but if you’ll lend me five shillings!’ said Grace, in her agony.  Miss Prettyman, as she made her way through this difficulty, thought of Major Grantly and his love.  It would have been of no use, she knew.  Had she brought them together on that Monday, Grace would have said nothing to him.  Indeed such a meeting at such a time would have been improper.  But, regarding Major Grantly, as she did, in the light of a millionaire—­for the wealth of the Archdeacon was notorious—­she could not but think it a pity that poor Grace should be begging for five shillings.  ’You need not at any rate trouble yourself about money, Grace,’ said Miss Prettyman.  ’What is a pound or two more or less between you and me?  It is almost unkind of you to think about it.  Is that letter in your hand anything for me to see, my dear?’ Then Grace explained that she did not wish to show Miss Dale’s letter, but that Miss Dale had asked her to go to Allington.  ‘And you will go,’ said Miss Prettyman.  ’It will be the best thing for you, and the best thing for your mother.’