"Frightened? Not I! But I don't intend to go over the waterfall, all the same."

"Now, what on earth do you mean by that remark?" asked Irene.

"I am quite as strong as you, and if it comes to a fight I can take the oars. The current is not yet very strong; but I wish to get out of it, for the see-sawing up and down makes me a little bit sea-sick. I am not your governess. I am just a girl who has come to live at the Merrimans', and I can make myself very pleasant to you if you make yourself pleasant to me, or I can take not the slightest notice of you. There are heaps and heaps of other girls about. There are all the Singletons."

"Oh, for primness!" began Irene. "Oh, those Green Leaves! they are positively detestable. But you shall have your way, Rosamund. You really are not afraid, so just you take one oar and I will take the other, and we will get into smooth water and enjoy ourselves for once. It is a comfort to talk to some one who hasn't a scrap of fear in her."

"Nobody ought to be afraid of you," said Rosamund, taking up an oar as she spoke; and with a few vigorous strokes the girls got out of the current into the still, blue waters of the lake.

Poor Lady Jane, who was watching them from her boudoir window, breathed a sigh of relief.

"I knew that girl was sent to be a blessing to me," she said to herself; "and my dear old friend's child, too. Oh, why was I given such a creature as Irene to bring up and look after? I can no more manage her than an old hen could manage a fierce young ostrich."

Meanwhile Rosamund and Irene began to enjoy themselves. The tea, as it was called, consisted of a bottle of cold tea; but the rest of the provisions were first-rate, the most delicious cakes of all sorts and descriptions, with a few other dainties in the shape of sandwiches. The girls ate and talked, and Irene, perhaps for the first time in her life, became almost rational in her behavior.

"And now," said Irene, "I want you to tell me again what you said about mother being naughty, because it will give me a most tremendous hold over her. I wish you would tell me some of the sort of things she used to do; because if I can say, 'I got it from you, mother, and you are the one to blame,' it would be an immense pull. I wish you would tell me. Do, won't you?"

"She never did the sort of things you have done," said Rosamund.

"How in the world do you know that?"

"Well, for instance, she was never cruel."

"I cruel? Well, I like that! I often and often put slugs and snails and worms, and that sort of thing, out of the path for fear any one should tread on them. I cruel?"

"You are in one way," said Rosamund. "I am not a scrap afraid of you, and I say you are cruel when you terrify the servants and your poor mother, who has no one but you, and"——

"We will get back into the current if you say another word," said Irene.

"No, we won't," replied Rosamund, "for I will keep this oar, and you cannot wrench it from me."

She grasped it more firmly as she spoke. Irene looked at her for a moment, and her small, wild, charming face seemed to lighten as though with sudden passion. Then she broke into a merry laugh.

"I declare it is refreshing to hear you," she said. "Only don't scold me too much at first. Let us be jolly for a little bit. When will you come to see me again?"

"That depends on your mother and, I suppose, on the people I am living with—the Merrimans."

"I don't know them."

"Don't know them? Why, they live quite close."

"I don't know any of the girls round here. There is a Merriman called Lucy, a horrid prig, isn't there?"

"I must confess that I don't care for her," said Rosamund.

"Ah! then we have something in common. I shall cultivate her just for the express purpose of finding out her faults, and then we will have more in common. Only, promise me one thing, Rose."

"What is that?" said Rosamond, suddenly struck by the gentle tone which the queer child's voice could assume.

"You won't take up with the Leaves. Do let the Leaves alone. Mother is always harping on them, and bringing them up to me. But the fact is, they are afraid to come here. They have been invited scores of times; but they always make excuses at the last moment. I know the reason, for that terrible Miss Carter, who was nearly drowned, went straight from us to them, and has remained with them ever since. Of course, she told them about the boat, and the current in the middle of the lake, and the waterfall. I have been rather curious to see them, and to give them a good round fright, every one of them, till they blanch to the color of ghosts, and then their green dresses wouldn't suit them any longer. But they wouldn't come. I have got no friends. That is why I am so anxious to have you as a friend. You don't think me so dreadful, do you?"

"I think you could be splendid; but at the present moment I consider that you are exceedingly naughty," said Rosamund. "But then, I am not a bit too good myself, so I suppose that is why I tolerate you. Now, will you please row back to the shore, for I am afraid I must be returning to the Merrimans'?"



CHAPTER VII.

TEA ON THE LAKE.

It was with some difficulty that Rosamund persuaded Irene to obey her orders; but firmness won the day. That young lady was accustomed to ruling with a rod of iron, but she had at last found a girl who was not the least afraid of her, who really did not mind what she did, and who insisted on taking one oar while she took the other. This was a new experience, and she could do nothing, try as she would, to terrify Rosamund, who laughed when she assured her that she was a changeling, and might perhaps take any form at any time, and might return to her real home with the fairies at any moment; who laughed still more merrily when she vowed she would upset the boat.

"I can swim like a duck," said Rosamund, "and I am a great deal bigger than you are; and, clever as you think yourself, you would be no match for me in the water."

In the end the merry laugh, the good nature, the charm and beauty of the face, touched something which had never yet been awakened in Irene's wild little heart. She turned to her oar, and they rowed quite silently, and soon both girls landed on the shore. There they found Lady Jane awaiting them.

"As you did not get leave, dear, to come here to-day, I think I had better take you back myself to the Merrimans', for I should like to see Mr. Merriman and have a chat with him; so will you come straight with me to the carriage?"

"May I come too?" asked Irene suddenly.

"No, dear, I think not. I could not take you in that red frock. If you were to put on a white dress, perhaps; but I think not to-day, Irene."

Lady Jane looked anxiously at her little daughter. Irene gave a wild laugh, which really sounded to poor Rosamund as scarcely human, and the next moment, with a whoop, she disappeared into the thick shrubbery of young trees near by. Her voice could then be heard calling, "Frosty! Frosty! come at once;" and then a thin and very emaciated woman was seen coming out of a summer-house just beyond.

Meanwhile Lady Jane put her hand on Rosamund's arm.

"You have done wonders," she said. "You amaze me. I scarcely know how to thank you. Come with me at once. I must see more of you; but you will have to go home now."

Rosamund took the lady's hand, and they walked up to the house, where an open landau was waiting for them. They drove quickly through the summer air. Rosamund remained silent, afraid to speak, and yet longing to say something. It was not until they had gone nearly a mile that Lady Jane broke the silence.

"I have always felt that if her heart could be touched she would be all right," was her first remark. "I think, somehow, you have touched it. She has been a great and dreadful trial to me—her extraordinary spirits, the way she fears nothing, the impossibility of giving her the slightest discipline, the—the"——

Here the poor lady burst into tears.

"Oh, don't, Lady Jane!" said Rosamund. "I am not a very good girl myself, and perhaps that is why I partly understand her. At the present moment I hate my position. I like Mr. and Mrs. Merriman very well, and some of the girls; but I can't stand that priggish Lucy. Perhaps that is why I comprehend Irene—anyhow, if I may sometimes come to see her."

"Sometimes, dear! Sometimes! But I am going to see Mr. Merriman on that very point this evening. I want you to be constantly with her."

"How can I be if I have to do all my lessons?"

"I will write to your mother. Something will have to be done. I can't lose this one chance. It was Heaven directed me; and, oh, your face in church—so like your mother's, and withal so spirited and so sweet! And then I felt that if only my little darling were in any way like you! I have had sorrow in my life; but no sorrow has been so great and terrible as that which I have endured with regard to that poor child."

"She has a lovely face," said Rosamund; "but the fact is, she is untamed. She wants some one to tame her; and no one can break her in. She must be led, not driven."

"I know it; but then I cannot lead her, and she has got the whole house so thoroughly in her power that she gloats over the position. But I must not say any more."

"I am afraid Mr. and Mrs. Merriman will be very angry with me," said Rosamund; "but, to tell the truth," she added, "I should not mind a bit if I had not met Irene. But somehow, now, I would rather be good than naughty, because I want really to help her."

They had now turned in at the avenue and were driving up to the house. They could see several girls coming to meet them. Jane Denton was the first to notice Rosamund. She went up to her at once.

"Oh, Rose," she said, "they are making such a fuss!" and then she colored and glanced at Lady Jane.

"Don't say a word against Rosamund. Whether she has been disobedient or not, she has done a splendid afternoon's work," said Lady Jane. Then she added, "Introduce me to your young friend, my dear."

Rosamund did so. Jane was much pleased. She had heard a good deal about Lady Jane in the course of the afternoon, and when Lucy and Mrs. Merriman and one or two other girls were inveighing against Rosamund's extreme naughtiness in going to see the great lady without permission, Jane was envying her in her heart.

Now Rosamund jumped lightly from the carriage, put her hand inside Jane's arm, and conducted Lady Jane into the house. She walked straight toward the study, that sacred room which was seldom invaded, and opening the door, announced Lady Jane Ashleigh, then at once closed it behind the good lady, and went with her friend Jane Denton into the grounds.

"You have got into a scrape," said Jane. "I never knew anything like it. What a pity you went!"

"Oh! don't bother me, Jane. I really don't care a bit if they do punish me. What punishment can they inflict?"

"Lucy said that you ought to be expelled," said Jane. "You never knew anything like her rage. But I rather think she did harm than otherwise, for the Professor said to her, 'Oh, gently, Lucy—gently. It is her first offense.' So I don't expect they will do that."

"It would be rather delightful if they did," said Rosamund, "for then I could go to Lady Jane and have a right good time. There, come along. I have a lot to tell you, but nothing at all to tell the others. Here they are coming to meet us, with that precious Lucy at their head. Wouldn't I like to take her out on the lake?" thought Rosamund, but she did not utter her thought aloud.

The fact was, seeing these good, well-behaved girls brought back a great deal of her naughty spirit, whereas terribly naughty Irene made her feel more or less good.

"What a strange creature I am!" she thought, with a sigh. "And how can I hope to influence any one?"

Meanwhile Lucy came straight up until she stood a few feet away from Rosamund.

"I wonder," she said, speaking in even a more formal way than usual, "how you can look me in the face, Rosamund. Have you ever been at school before?"

"I don't call this school," said Rosamund; "it is a private house. It is true we are subject to rules." Then she added, making a great effort to control herself and to speak quietly, "I will tell your father and mother what I feel with regard to this day's expedition; but I will not tell you, for you are only a school-girl like myself, and I expect, when all is said and done, not a bit better."

"Not a bit better?" repeated Lucy, her voice almost choking. "Why, I never disobeyed my parents in the whole course of my life."

"I am not aware that I have disobeyed mine," said Rosamund. "But," she continued, turning to the other girls, "I will talk of this to my master and mistress, Professor and Mrs. Merriman, and not to you, Lucy."

Then she linked her hand through Jane Denton's arm, called to Laura Everett to follow her, while Annie Millar, Laura's special friend, immediately turned to join the little group, and the four children soon found themselves in the shade of one of the thickest plantations in Sunnyside.

"Oh dear! oh dear!" said Laura, speaking excitedly, "there has been a fuss made. I always did admire you, Rosamund; but I must own I was disappointed at your creeping away in the manner you did, without telling anybody. And as to dear Professor Merriman, his face was quite full of pain. I could scarcely bear to look at him."

"I am sorry I went," said Rosamund. "At least, in one sense I am sorry, but it was a mistake to prevent me. The fact is," she continued, "I am not made like ordinary girls; I know I am not, and I could not stand the narrow point of view which it seemed to me the Professor had assumed."

"But at school, remember, if there were no discipline there would be no chance of education," was Laura's next remark.

"I am sure Laura is right," said Annie Millar.

"Well, I hold with Rosamund to a certain extent," exclaimed Jane Denton.

Rosamund turned round to her own friend and smiled.

"Now, I will tell you something," she said. "I hold a distinct brief against myself. I did wrong, and yet in some ways I suppose I did right to go. Girls, have you ever heard any particulars with regard to Lady Jane Ashleigh?"

Laura's face turned very red.

"Of course, every one in the place respects her," she said.

"Yes, I know, and I am not a bit surprised. I told her quite frankly that I had come without leave, and she said she was sorry for that; and although she did wish to see me so much, she would insist on not allowing me to stay to supper, and brought me home, as you see, comparatively early. So you will understand that she at least is not to blame. Nevertheless, have you heard anything more of that household?"

"Only that there is a girl—a very queer girl—there," said Annie Millar in an almost spiteful voice.

"Some people say she is mad," said Laura Everett.

"Well, now, I am going to tell you something," said Rosamund. "I have seen the girl. Her name is Irene. She has quite one of the most beautiful little faces I have ever looked at. And she is the wildest, queerest creature; but not a scrap mad in the ordinary sense of the word. She and I spent a good deal of the afternoon together, and I mean to see more of her, and to make her my friend."

"But you will have so many friends!" interrupted Jane.

"Yes, every one wants to be your friend, Rosamund," said Laura in a gentle tone.

"And I am quite glad to be everybody's friend, if only Lucy Merriman may be left out of the category," was Rosamund's answer. "But, all the same, I mean to make Irene Ashleigh my special friend above all others, and you must none of you be jealous, because—because—well, I can't explain."

"There are the Singletons," said Laura quickly. "Mr. Singleton came over this afternoon with two of the girls, the two eldest ones; their names are Maud and Alice, and they told us a lot about Irene. They seem to have a perfect horror of her. They are awfully nice girls, and we are to go there on Wednesday afternoon, and I for one am looking forward to it. But, Rosamond, it is extraordinary that you should take up with her. They told us an awful story about how Irene treated their dear governess, Miss Carter. They wouldn't tell us quite all, but they said that, for their parts, nothing would induce them to go to The Follies, although they had been asked ever so often. And as to poor Miss Carter, her nerves have not yet got over the awful shocks that Irene subjected her to. Once she was almost drowned."

"Oh! I know all about that," said Rosamund, with a laugh. "Well, don't keep me now. I see Lady Jane driving away, and I am going straight to have an interview with the Professor."

The girls watched her, in a little group, as she marched out of the wood, across the front lawn, and passed into the house by a side-door which led straight to the Professor's study.

He was alone, expecting no one. He was somewhat tired, and life seemed to him a little more bewildering than usual. He had never greatly approved of his wife's scheme of having girls to live with them, but had yielded to it at last under the pressure of necessity. He had no objection to the scheme on any score except that he was afraid it might absorb all his time and thoughts; for he was so constituted that he could never see a human creature, particularly a human creature in trouble, without taking that person's part and endeavoring if possible to set wrong right. And now, just what he feared had happened. He was weak and ill, and his nerves shaken, and Lady Jane had been to him, and Rosamund Cunliffe, the girl whom he most admired of all those who had come to live at Sunnyside, had directly disobeyed him, and Lady Jane had made a somewhat painful appeal to his sympathy. What was to be done?

Mrs. Merriman had hurried into the room the moment Lady Jane had left.

"Well," she said—"well, and what did Lady Jane say? And what are we going to do with that naughty girl? We ought to be firm with her. We really ought, Ralph."

The Professor looked gently at her, but did not speak.

"For Lucy's sake we ought to be firm," continued Mrs. Merriman. "Of course, I don't want to be hard on any girl; but a direct act of disobedience——"

"It is her first offence; and, after all, the girl is impulsive and has never been subject to control, and there are extenuating circumstances," said the Professor. "My dear," he continued, laying his hand on his wife's very plump shoulder, "you must speak to Lucy from yourself, not from me, dear; for I am too tired. But you must speak to her from yourself, and tell her that she is not to dictate any terms to us with regard to the pupils who come to be educated at Sunnyside. She herself is but one of the pupils. And now, dear, leave me, please."

Mrs. Merriman did so, and a moment later Rosamund entered the room. She advanced proudly, her head well thrown back, a spot of additional color on each cheek, her brown eyes brighter than usual.

"Professor," she said before he could speak a word, for he was amazed at her entering into his presence, "I know I have been a very naughty girl. I did disobey you. I did go all by myself to The Follies. I was annoyed at your strict views, and I had not been accustomed to self-control. I beg of you to forgive me, and to forgive me although I am not particularly repentant."

"What do you mean by that, Rosamund?" asked the Professor, his eyes darkening and a look of pain crossing his face.

"Because I think I have helped Lady Jane, and I want, please, Professor, your forgiveness and then your help."

As she spoke she suddenly dropped on her knees by his side and laid one hand on his knee.

"I want your help," she said, looking up into his face, "for dear Lady Jane was mother's friend, and she has got such a strange, wild, beautiful little daughter, whom nobody understands, and who is, I confess, exceedingly naughty. But I—yes, I, Professor—want to tame her."

"I have heard of her," said Professor Merriman. "There is no one living in the place who has not heard of Irene Ashleigh. The fact is, her name is a terror to the neighborhood. I have heard dreadful stories of that child, and the thought of her has weighed on my mind."

"As it is weighing on mine now," said Rosamund in a low voice, her eyes suddenly filling with tears.

"My dear, you have been sent to me to be trained as I would train my own child—to be trained in this little simple school, to be educated in mind and body, not to be thrown into contact with a girl who is in no way fit to know you. At present, Rosamund, you are under masters and governors, and have, according to scriptural precepts, to obey them. By-and-by your time of emancipation will come, and you will owe allegiance only to God and those whom you love, my dear; but until that time comes it seems to me scarcely fit or advisable that you should have anything to do with Irene. I told Lady Jane so this evening."

"You told Lady Jane that?" said Rosamund, rising to her feet, her face very pale, her eyes dark as night.

"Yes, I did, for I considered it my duty."

"Then you would like me to leave you, Professor? You would like me to write to my mother and explain all the circumstances to her, and beg and implore of her to take me away?"

"You must please yourself, Rosamund," said the Professor; and now he rose and in his turn laid his hand on her shoulder. "You have a generous heart, I can see. But you have never been subjected to the rigorous laws of self-control. You showed a sad want of self-control when you disobeyed me to-day, and again I perceive it breaking out. If you cannot obey me, Rosamund, you must go. Yes, I shall be sorry to have to say it, but you must go."

"And does that mean," said Rosamund, "that I am not to see Irene, that I am not to try to help her, that I am not to be a friend to Lady Jane, that my mother's wishes in this matter are to be disregarded?"

"It means," said the Professor very gravely, "that, for the present at least, you are to have nothing whatever to do with Irene Ashleigh—nothing whatever to do with her. You understand that, Rosamund. And I give you a week, my dear, to decide. Think over the advantages of this home. Think what it means to your friends, and will eventually mean to yourself, and try to discover that I am wise in my generation, although you doubtless consider me foolish. If at the end of the week you have found out that you cannot really obey me—or, rather, that you will not—I shall have, reluctantly, to write to your mother and ask her to remove you, for the other girls cannot be contaminated with that most fatal of all sins, the sin of direct disobedience."

Rosamund bowed her head. The tears she could not repress brimmed to her eyes. Suddenly she flung off the Professor's detaining hand.

"Oh, you are hard!" she said. "Is no one to help a girl who will soon become irreclaimable? Why, already I have an influence over her."

But the Professor did not answer.

"Give yourself a week," he said after a long pause; "then come to me again with your resolution."

She was about to leave the room when he again laid his hand on her arm.

"Give me your word of honor, Rosamund Cunliffe, that you do not go again to The Follies until the week is up."

She looked at him, struggled to speak, but remained silent.

"Your word of honor," he repeated, "you do not go to The Follies until the week is up."

"My word of honor!" she said then in a faltering tone. "I will not go on one condition, that you allow me to write to Lady Jane."

"You may do that if you promise to tell her the exact truth, that you are on parole for a week. At the end of that time you may come to a decision. God grant it may be a right one! I trust you, but leave me now, please, dear."

Rosamund left the room.



CHAPTER VIII.

THE RECTORY.

On the following Wednesday all the girls belonging to Mrs. Merriman's school, accompanied by Miss Archer, went to have tea with the Singletons. Even Rosamund was interested in this visit. She did not say much about it. She had been rather silent and, as Jane Denton said, "off color" for the last few days. She had forgotten to be wild or cantankerous. She had even ceased to notice Lucy; and as to her lessons, she had gone through the tasks assigned to her with sufficient promptitude and sufficient correctness to win fairly good remarks from the two governesses and from the different teachers who came to visit the little school. Of Irene Ashleigh she absolutely refused to speak. With regard to her adventure on Sunday she also kept a profound silence. No one, not even Jane Denton, could induce her to alter her mind with regard to this particular. Jane was anxious about her friend. Laura Everett said that she did not think Rosamund Cunliffe nearly as interesting as when she first met her. Phyllis Flower looked wise and mysterious, as she always did, and everything settled down to a monotonous and yet harmonious contentment at Sunnyside.

Nevertheless, Wednesday was thought a good deal about, and the girls of the entire school—for every single one was invited—headed by Lucy and accompanied by Miss Archer, started to walk to the Rectory.

Now, Rosamund's interest in this expedition was on no account to examine the "Leaves," as naughty Irene called the rector's daughters; but she wanted to watch Miss Carter, and if possible to get a word with her, and to induce her to tell her something more with regard to the wild and mischievous girl whom, nevertheless, she could not get for a moment out of her head.

When the young people arrived at the Rectory they found the rector's daughters waiting for them, not dressed in their quaint green dresses as on Sunday, but in simple white, with green ribbons, however, round their white straw hats. They looked particularly pretty and interesting, and Rosamund could not help feeling that under different circumstances she might have been glad to make friends with them. Maud, the eldest girl, had very straight, well-formed features. She was intensely fair, with large, clear blue eyes; and her hair, golden, with warm shades in it, hung below her waist. Her little mouth was small and rosy and very firm. She had a pretty cleft in her chin, a good carriage; and, in short, she was just the sort of girl to captivate other girls. Beyond doubt she had for some time acted as mother to her sisters; for Alice, the next in age, was about two years younger. Then came Bertha and Mary, pretty little girls of nine and ten years of age, and then Ivy and Jasmine.

They made an interesting group as they clustered round the girls from Sunnyside and bade them welcome, Maud taking the lead, and finally attaching herself to Rosamund; for she guessed, in some sort of instinctive way, that Rosamund had more character than the other school-girls, and would be more likely to interest her.

"Come and walk with me, won't you?" she said. "I want to introduce you to dear Miss Carter. She is longing to see you. She knows—we all know—about your wonderful escapade on Sunday."

Rosamund felt herself turning pale just for a moment: then the color flooded her cheeks.

"I would rather not speak about Sunday, if you don't mind," she said.

"Certainly I don't mind," replied Maud in a very quiet and lady-like way. "That is, if you would really rather not," she continued after a pause. "We know a great deal of Irene Ashleigh from Miss Carter, and we are all interested in her."

"I should have thought you would have hated her," said Rosamund suddenly.

"No—not exactly. She has a sort of fascination for us. Whenever we want dear Carter to make us thoroughly happy, or to give us a great treat, we get her to tell us about this wild, this formidable little Irene. She could not do it at first, poor thing! for, you know—but I can't speak of that to-day. Oh! here she is, coming down the path. Ah, Miss Carter," called Maud, "this is Rosamund"——

"Rosamund Cunliffe," said Rosamund.

"Rosamund Cunliffe, the girl who was so plucky and went on the lake with Irene Ashleigh on Sunday afternoon."

"You were very fortunate," said Miss Carter, speaking in a prim voice. "It was, I regret to say, otherwise with me. I could not command her, and she took me"——Miss Carter's lips trembled.

"Don't speak of it now, dear Cartery. It always upsets you, doesn't it? Let us talk of something else. You are very happy with us, aren't you, Cartery love?"

"Cartery love" expressed that she was, and Maud slipped her hand affectionately through her governess's arm.

Rosamund gave the latter lady a keen glance. She saw that she was naturally extremely kind, but also shy and wanting in courage.

"She could never master Irene," thought the girl. "Irene is going to be given to me. She shall be mine. I mean to help her. I mean, whatever happens, to save her. But I don't mind talking a wee little bit about her to 'Cartery love,' as that funny Maud calls her."

The rest of the girls came up in a group, and the next hour or two were spent wandering through the pleasant gardens, while laughter, jokes, and good-humored chatter of all sorts filled the air.

Then came tea. Now, the rector's teas were celebrated. They were, in fact, that old-fashioned institution, now, alas! so rapidly disappearing from our English life, known as "high tea." Eggs, boiled ham, chickens, stewed fruits, fresh ripe fruit of every sort and variety, graced the board. No dinner followed this meal; but sandwiches and lemonade generally concluded the happy day.

The girls knew that they were not expected back until bedtime, and gave themselves absolutely up to the pleasures of the time. The Rectory was a charming old house, being quite a hundred and fifty or two hundred years old; and the study, or schoolroom, as the girls called it, where they invariably partook of tea, was a low-roofed apartment running right across the eastern side of the house. It was, therefore, at this hour a delightfully cool room, and was rendered more so by the bowery shade of green trees.

Rosamund found herself sitting near Maud at the meal, and she suddenly turned to her and said, "I quite understand now why you wear green, and why some people call you the Leaves."

"One person, you mean," said Maud, coloring slightly.

Lucy gave Rosamund an angry glance, and even managed to kick her under the table. This kick was highly resented by that young person, who, as she said to herself, stiffened her neck on the spot and determined to show what mettle she was made of.

"I'm not going to be mastered by that horrid Lucy, come what may," she thought.

Although it was impossible to be absolutely rude to Maud, who was one of those charming girls, unaffected, affectionate, and natural, who must delight every one, yet Rosamund's real object was to have a talk with "Cartery love." Now, Cartery's hands were full at that moment, for she was absorbed pouring out coffee at the other end of the table, never thinking once of herself, attending to the wants of every one else. She was one of those retiring people who may come and go in a crowd without any one specially noticing them; but if a kind office is wanted to be done in the most unobtrusive and gentle way, then "Cartery love" was sure to be at the fore. On this occasion she did glance once or twice at Rosamund, and something which was not often seen in her eyes filled them for a moment—a look of mingled admiration and fear. Rosamund determined to bide her time.

"I have not come here to make friends with the stupid Leaves," she said to herself. "I have come here to talk to Miss Carter, and talk to her I will. The week is coming to a close, and I have to give my decision. How that decision will turn out depends as much on 'Cartery love' as on anybody else."

Tea, good as it was, came to an end at last, and the children went out into the grounds, some to play tennis, some croquet, and some to wander away, two and two, each talking, as girls will, of their hopes and fears and ambitions.

Rosamund, to whom Maud devoted herself, turned suddenly to that young person.

"I will confide in you," she said. "You are longing to play tennis, are you not?"

"Oh no, thank you, not at all," said Maud, who was one of the champion players of the neighborhood, and could never bear to be out of any game that was in progress.

"But I know you are. I can read through people pretty well," said Rosamund, speaking in a low tone. "Now, I want to have a little talk with Miss Carter. Won't you go and play, and forget all about me, and let me have a chat with Miss Carter?"

"With our darling Cartery? Why, certainly, you shall if you like. I see you want to get her to tell you about Irene. I doubt if she will. Do, please, be merciful. She is very nervous. When she came to us she was almost ill, and we had to take great, great care of her. Would you like, first of all, to know how she came to us?"

"I should very much."

Rosamund forgot at this juncture all about Maud's passionate love for tennis.

"Well, it was in this way. We had no governess; we used to go to a sort of school—not the Merrimans', for they had not started one at the time—and I used to teach the little children, and things were rather at sixes and sevens. Not that father ever minded, for he is the sort of man who just lets you do what you like, and I think that is why we have grown up nicer than most girls."

"Indeed, I didn't know it would have that effect," said Rosamund, trying to suppress the sarcastic note in her voice.

"Don't speak in that tone, please. I think we really are quite nice girls—I mean we never quarrel, and we are always chummy and affectionate, and we try to do our best. We are not a bit self-righteous or conceited, or anything of that sort; for, you see, when our dear mother was alive she taught us so beautifully. Her rule was such a very simple one. She never punished us; all she ever said was, 'Do it because it is right. You cannot quite understand why it is right while you are very young; but, nevertheless, do it because it is right and because you love me.' And when God took her, and we thought our hearts would break, we all sat in a conclave together, and we determined to follow our mother's rule, and to do the right because it was right and because we loved her. I cannot tell you what a terrible time we had; but we stuck to that resolve. Nevertheless, our education was a poor affair, although father never noticed it.

"One day I was out driving with father, and we saw a poor lady sitting by the roadside. She looked so forlorn, and her eyes were red with crying. We did not know her; but she knew us, for she stood up at once, and said to father, 'You are Mr. Singleton?'

"Then, of course, father remembered her, only I did not. She was one of the many governesses who had come to try to tame Irene Ashleigh. So father and I both got down from the gig, and she told us that she had left The Follies and was going back to London to try to get another situation. She said that she had sent on her trunks by a porter to the station, and she meant to walk, for Lady Jane was very, very angry with her. She could not go on. She broke down, poor dear! and very nearly fainted. She said she did feel very faint and bad, so we just got her into the gig—as, of course, any people who had any feelings would do—and we brought her straight back to the Rectory, and she has stayed with us ever since.

"For the first month she was not our governess at all; she was our sort of child, to be petted and loved and fussed over. We put her in the sunniest room, and when we found that her nerves were so terribly shaken that she could scarcely sleep alone, one of my sisters had a little bed made up in the room and slept with her at night. We fed her up, didn't we just? and petted her; and when we found she liked it we took to calling her 'Cartery love,' and she did not mind it a bit. Then she got better, and said she must seek another situation, and father said she should stay and teach us and look after things in the house a bit. So she stayed. She knows such a lot, and does teach us so beautifully, and she isn't half nor quarter as shy as she was; we all love her, and she loves us. I think if Irene were not so near she would be perfectly happy."

"Thank you for telling me so much," said Rosamund when Maud ceased speaking.

"I had to tell you, for I want you, if you talk to her, to be very careful, for she is still exceedingly nervous. And no wonder. What she lived through at The Follies was enough to destroy the nerves of any woman, even the stoutest-hearted in the world."

"Well, I should like to speak to her, and I will certainly not harm her," said Rosamund.

Maud left her for a little while, and in a few minutes Miss Carter was seen coming down the path with Maud hanging on her arm.

"Now, Cartery dear," she said, "you talk to Rosamund Cunliffe, who is a friend of mine, and I will go and have a good, romping game of tennis. Oh, I see they are just breaking up the present set, so I am just in time."

Off ran Maud. Miss Carter's light-blue eyes followed her with an expression of the deepest affection.

"You seem very fond of her," said Rosamund suddenly.

"I don't know what I should have done without her. She saved my life and my reason."

"I don't want to talk about what has evidently given you very great distress," said Rosamund after a time; "but I should like to tell you that I know."

"You know?" said Miss Carter, beginning to tremble, and turning very pale.

"Yes, for Irene told me."

"My dear, dear Miss Cunliffe, how had you the courage to go with her in that terrible boat? She actually took you into the current—that appalling current where one is so powerless—and you escaped!"

"Oh, yes," said Rosamund lightly. "It was a mere nothing. You see, I am stronger than she is. All she wants is management."

"I could never manage her," said Miss Carter. "I could tell you of other things she did."

"No, I don't want to hear unless you are going to tell me something nice about her. Every one seems to speak against that poor girl; but I am determined to be her friend."

"Are you really?" said Miss Carter, suddenly changing her tone and looking fixedly at Rosamund. "Then you must be about the noblest girl in the world."

These words were very gratifying to Rosamund, who did think herself rather good in taking up Irene's cause; although, of course, she was fascinated by the exceedingly naughty young person.

"Yes, indeed, you are splendid," said Miss Carter; "and I know there must be good in the child. Such courage, such animal spirits, such daring cannot be meant for nothing. The fact is, her mother cannot manage her. Her mother is too gentle, too like me."

"Dear Lady Jane! Miss Carter, when my mother was young she was her great friend, and she said that Lady Jane was rather naughty."

"Ah!" said Miss Carter, with a sigh, "she has left all that behind her a long time ago. The only time I found her hard and unsympathetic was when I told her that I could not stay any longer at The Follies. She begged and implored of me to stay; but, of course, you know the story. I was under a promise to go, and I could not let out that Irene had wrung it from me at the risk of my life. So I went, and she took no notice of me, although it seemed to me that a sort of despair filled her face. Anyhow, off I went, and I am a happy woman here. I don't know what is to be done with Irene."

How long were you with her?

"A month altogether; but that month seems like years. I was very glad to get the post, for I must tell you, Miss Cunliffe, that I am poor and dependent altogether on what I earn for my daily bread. I have an old mother at home; I help her to keep alive with some of my earnings; and Lady Jane offered a very big salary—over a hundred a year—and there was only one child to teach, and I thought it would be so delightful. She mentioned the charms of the country-house, and that she did not require a great deal of education; and she even spoke of the lake and the boat. Oh, I was so glad to come! for I am not certificated, you know, and cannot get the posts that other women can. Well, anyhow, I arrived, and for a month it was really a reign of terror."

Miss Carter began to tremble.

"You must not do that, really," said Rosamund. "You are not suited to it. But do tell me what you think a very strong-minded person would have made of Irene."

"Well, you see, the first and principal thing was not to fear her, and it was impossible not to fear her, for she was up to so many tricks; she was worse than the most mischievous school-boy who ever walked. She would suddenly come into the drawing-room in her gymnasium clothes, and turn somersaults up and down the room in the presence of Lady Jane's distinguished guests. Oh! I cannot tell you half she did—I dare not tell you. There was no trick she was not up to; but you will know for yourself if you really mean to have more to do with her."

"I certainly mean to have a great deal more to do with her, although at the present moment I am forbidden by Professor Merriman even to speak to her."

"I know the Merrimans have a very bad opinion of her," said Miss Carter.

"Yes, that is just it; but she is the daughter of my mother's dearest friend, and I am not going to give her up."

"Yet you are at school at Mr. Merriman's!"

"That is true."

Miss Carter looked in a puzzled way at Rosamund.

"I cannot reveal any more of my plans," said Rosamund, speaking in a rather lofty tone; "but now I want to know a few things about her. Is she stingy or generous?"

"Oh! absolutely and perfectly generous, and in her own way forgiving too; and I do not think she could tell a lie, for she has no fear in her, and I suppose it is fear that makes us tell lies. She has never feared any mortal. She has no respect for authority, not even her mother; and although she rushes at her sometimes and smothers her with kisses, she seems to have no real affection for her. If I could be sure that she was absolutely affectionate I think something could be done for her. Now, that is all I can tell you. You can scarcely believe how this subject distresses me and causes that terrible trembling to come on. I don't think, Miss Cunliffe, young as you are, and brave as you doubtless are, you ought to undertake the reform of that wild girl at your age. Allow me to say that you are sent to school by your parents for a definite purpose, and not to undertake the reform of Irene Ashleigh."

A frown came over Rosamund's face, and Miss Carter, glancing at her, saw that her words had caused displeasure.

"Forgive me," she said gently; "I don't really mean to be unkind. Indeed, I admire you, and admire your bravery beyond words. To be as brave as you are would be a noble gift, and if it were only my own heritage, how happy I should be!"

"I tell you what it is, Miss Carter," said Rosamund suddenly; "if ever I want your help, and if I can assure you that you can give it without personal danger to yourself, will you give it to me?"

"If I think it right I will truly do so."

"Then the day may come," said Rosamund; "there is no saying."

Just then Ivy's pretty voice was heard calling Miss Carter.

"She is my second youngest pupil, and such a darling child!" said Miss Carter, her eyes brightening. "Yes, dear," she continued as Ivy danced up to her; "what is it?"

"We want a game of Puss-in-the-corner, and the silliest and youngest among us are going to play."

Jumping up as she spoke, Miss Carter said she belonged to that group, and Rosamund turned somewhat disdainfully away.



CHAPTER IX.

AN UNEXPECTED ROOM-MATE.

It was on that very same day that Jane Denton, Rosamund's special friend, complained of sudden chill and headache. She was a little sick, too, and could not touch her supper. Mrs. Merriman always kept a clinical thermometer handy, and on discovering that the young girl's temperature was considerably over one hundred degrees, she took fright and had her removed to a room in a distant part of the house.

"If she is not better in the morning we will send for the doctor," was her verdict. "Now, girls, one thing: I do not wish the Professor to be annoyed. I undertook this school in order to save him anxiety, and if he knows of every trifling indisposition he may be terribly vexed and put out. I therefore take charge of Jane to-night, sleeping in her room and looking after her, and administering to her simple remedies. If in the morning she is no better I will send for the doctor, and then we will know how to act. Meanwhile you, Rosamund, have your room to yourself."

Rosamund was distressed for her friend, and boldly announced at once that she would act as nurse.

"I ought to," she said. "She is my friend, and I have always been fond of her. Besides, it seems exceedingly hard that you, Mrs. Merriman, who work so much for us all day long, should have to work at night as well. Do let me undertake this."

Mrs. Merriman could scarcely keep the tears back from her eyes when Rosamund spoke. She could not help liking the girl, notwithstanding her eccentricities and her very bold act of disobedience on the previous Sunday. But she was firm in her resolve.

"No, dear," she said; "I am obliged to you for making the offer."

"Hypocrite!" said Lucy angrily to herself. "She knows it cannot be accepted."

Mrs. Merriman was not looking at Lucy; on the contrary, she was looking full into Rosamund's face.

"I am obliged to you for making the offer," she continued; "but it is impossible for me to accept it, for the simple reason that there is just the possibility that Jane may be going to have some infectious disease, in which case I could not hear of any other girl in my establishment running any risk. Therefore you see for yourself that I cannot accept your offer. I should be unfaithful to your mother if I did."

"Oh, come, Rosamund!" said Laura Everett; "do let us go out and have a chat together. Of course, Mrs. Merriman is right. We will help you all we can, Mrs. Merriman, by being extra good girls. Isn't that the best way?"

Mrs. Merriman admitted that it was, and the two girls, their arms entwined, went out into the soft summer night. Laura Everett, with her merry face, blue eyes, and fair hair, was a great contrast to Rosamund Cunliffe. She was exceedingly clever and fond of books. Most of her tastes lay, however, in a scientific direction. She was devoted to chemistry and mathematics, and could already work well in these two branches of science. She was intensely matter-of-fact, and in reality had nothing whatever in common with Rosamund.

Lucy Merriman had a great admiration for Laura Everett: in the first place, because her mother, Lady Everett, was Mrs. Merriman's old friend; and in the next place, because she possessed, as Lucy expressed it, the invaluable gift of common-sense. She had rather taken Laura under her own wing, had intended to make her her special friend, had meant to trot her round and to show her to other friends; in short, as much as possible to divide her from Rosamund, whom she considered a most dangerous and pernicious influence.

But Laura had character of her own, and admired Rosamund; and now that she saw the girl looking rather pale, with an almost pathetic expression in her brown eyes, her heart smote her with a sense of pity, and she went up to her eagerly.

"I want you to tell me just what you think about the Singletons," she said. "Let us walk about under the trees. Isn't it nice and home-like here? Don't you think so, Rosamund?"

"Perhaps," said Rosamund in a dubious voice. Then she added impulsively, "You see, Laura, it is somewhat difficult for me to talk to you, for Lucy is your friend and she is not mine."

"I know you do not like her—I mean I know she is in every way your opposite; but if you only would take no notice of her little peculiarities, and accept her as she really is, you would soon find good points in her. She is devoted to her parents, and is very true. I know, of course, she is a little matter-of-fact."

"Yes, that is it," said Rosamund. "For goodness' sake, Laura, don't waste time talking about her. We can say as much as ever we like about the Singletons. I must say I am rather charmed with them."

"And so am I," said Laura, "particularly with Maud. She is so bright and unselfish."

"The person I like best of the entire group is Miss Carter," said Rosamund stoutly.

"What!" exclaimed Laura, with a laugh. "That poor, thin, frightened-looking governess—'Cartery love,' as they call her?"

"Yes, 'Cartery love,' or anything else you like to name her. I took a fancy to her, and thought her awfully nice. I may see more of her; there's no saying."

"You are so odd, Rosamund—so different from the other girls!"

"Mother told me that before, but somehow I never believed it. Of course, I have never been at school before."

"You can scarcely call this homely, pleasant house, school."

"I should enjoy it but for Lucy. But there, we are treading on dangerous ground."

"So we are," said Laura. Then she added stoutly, "I like it in spite of Lucy; or, rather, I like Lucy as much as anything else belonging to the school. I hope," she continued as they paced slowly under the fir-trees, "that you are not really anxious about Jane. I know that you and she are friends."

"We have been friends almost since we were babies," said Rosamund. "Not that we are a bit alike in character."

"Indeed you are not. Jane hasn't a quarter of your spirit."

"Perhaps it is because we are such opposites that we are such great friends," continued Rosamund.

"Perhaps; but do say you are not anxious about her."

"Not a scrap. I know Janey's ways. She is a little bit of a glutton is my Jane, and she overate herself at tea at the Singletons'. Now, you must not breathe it to mortal; but when I saw her taking that third plate of strawberries and cream, and that fifth hot buttered cake, I guessed there'd be something up to-night. She gets attacks of indigestion very severely; but if she has a chance of making a good meal—I mean a meal that she likes, for, of course, although the food here is good and plentiful, it is very simple—she never can resist it. There's my Janey to the life, so you needn't suppose that I am a little bit anxious about her."

"Well, that's all right," said Laura. "Somehow I thought by your manner you were."

"That is because I offered to stay in her room to-night. It did seem such a pity that dear Mrs. Merriman should be tired out."

"You have a very kind heart, Rosamund. Come, you know it."

"Have I? I don't think I do know it. But do you know what it is, Laura? I am tired and would like to go to bed. Do you mind if I leave you?"

Laura, who saw Lucy in the distance, and was not so taken up with Rosamund as she had imagined she would be, consented without a moment's hesitation to part from her friend, and Rosamund presently went up to her own room. She had said good-night to the rest of the party, and wondered what she should feel like when she entered her room with no Jane to keep her company. Not that she was anything like as attached to Jane as Jane was to her; for she was Jane's idol, her ideal of all that was noble and princess-like and beautiful. Jane, to Rosamund, was an ordinary good-tempered girl, with whom she could put up, and on whom she could impose to a certain extent.

Nothing could exceed Rosamund's amazement, and a scream almost rose to her lips, when she entered and saw, curled up snugly in Jane's bed, no less a person than Irene Ashleigh. Irene's exceedingly bright face peeped up above the clothes. She gave a low, impish laugh, and then said slowly:

"Don't scream. Keep your nerve. I climbed up by the wistaria. I have been in bed for the last hour, expecting you. I happened to be hiding just below the window, clinging on for bare life to the wistaria and the thick ivy, and I heard the conversation between you and Mrs. Merriman, so I knew that you would have your room to yourself, and decided that I would share it with you. Now lock the door, for I have a great deal to say."

"But we are not allowed to lock our doors," said Rosamund.

"You will lock it to-night, because I order you to," said Irene.

"I shall do nothing of the sort. It is my room, and I will do exactly as I like."

Irene sat up in bed. Nothing could be more picturesque than her general appearance. She was in the red frock that she usually wore; her wild hair curled in elf-locks all over her head; her eyes, bright as stars, shone in the middle of her little elfin face; her charming lips pouted just for a moment. Then she said in a clear tone, "What if I get up and strike you right across the face? Will you lock the door in preference to that?"

"I will not lock the door."

Like a flash, Irene was out of bed and had struck Rosamund a resounding blow on her cheek. Rosamund felt the blow tingling, but she stood firm.

"Will you lock the door now?"

"No."

"What if I give you a blow on the other cheek?"

"Here it is for your majesty," said Rosamund, turning her other cheek to the foe.

Irene burst into a laugh.

"What a creature you are! But you know we are in danger. I have such a lot to say to you, and any one may nab us. Won't you lock the door just to please me? I won't slap you any more. I am sorry I hurt your dear cheek. I came because I could not help myself, and because I could not live without you any longer. Sunday, Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, and no sign of you, and I just hungered for you. I am pining for you through all the days and all the nights, through every hour, in the midst of every meal; not speaking about you, for that is not my way, but just hungering and hungering, and yet you say you will not lock the door."

"No, Irene; and you ought not to be here. What is to be done?"

Poor Rosamund had never felt more bewildered in her life. She had given her word of honor; and her word of honor was, to her, worthy of respect. She had never yet broken it. Should she break it now? Irene looked at her for a few minutes in wonder. The two girls were standing in the centre of the room, for, of course, Irene was fully dressed. Compared to Rosamund, she was a small girl, for Rosamund was tall and exceedingly well developed for her age. Irene was a couple of years younger, but she was as lithe as steel. Her little fingers could crush and destroy if they pleased. Her thin arms were muscular to a remarkable degree for so young a girl. She had not a scrap of superfluous flesh on her body. At this moment she looked more spirit than girl; and if Rosamund could have got herself to believe that there were such creatures as changelings, she might almost have given credence to Irene's own story of herself.

As it was, however, she knew quite well that there must be a fight between them, and that if ever she was to influence Irene for good she must conquer her now.

"Look here," she said, going straight up to the younger girl; "you did wrong to come in here."

"I did wrong?" said Irene, with a little impish laugh. "But then I always do wrong. That doesn't matter."

"It may not matter to you. I am not concerning myself about your morals at this moment, but I am thinking about my own. When you did wrong now you injured me, and I am not going to put up with it."

"You are not going to put up with it? And how are you going to prevent it, darling?"

Before Rosamund could utter a word, Irene had sprung upon her, seized her round the waist, and compelled Rosamund to seat herself upon the side of the bed, which she herself had been occupying a few minutes ago.

"Now, darling," she said, "you are not going to get away from me, and I believe in your heart you don't want to."

Poor Rosamund! a great wave of longing to help this queer child swept over her heart; but there was her word of honor. She was a passionate, head-strong, naughty girl; but she could not give that up. Besides, she could not do anything with Irene in the future if she did not conquer her now.

"You are not going to—to say you don't like me?" said Irene, an expression of absolute terror filling her eyes and making them look wilder than ever. "Nobody ever dared to say that to me, and you are not going to be the first."

"As a matter of fact," said Rosamund, "I like you very much."

"There, then, I am satisfied," exclaimed Irene, and she flung her thin arms round Rosamund's neck, squeezed herself up close to her, and kissed her again and again.

"Ah!" she said, "I knew that all my life I was waiting for somebody; and that somebody was you, just you, so big, so brave, so—so different from all the others. I should not be the horrid thing I am if the others had not been afraid of me. I got worse and worse, and at last I could not control myself any longer. I did things that perhaps I ought not to have done; but if you give me up I don't know what will happen—I don't know where things will end. Are you going to give me up?"

"I will tell you now exactly what has happened, Irene, and will leave it to you to judge how you ought to act for my sake at the present moment. You say you love me——"

"I suppose that is what I feel," said Irene. "It is a queer sort of sensation, and I have never had it before. It seems to make my heart lighter, and when I think of you I seem to get a sense of rest and pleasure. When you are away from me I feel savage with every one else; but when you are near I think the best of others. And I think it is just possible that if I saw much of you I'd be a sort of a good girl—not a very good one, but a sort of a good girl, particularly if you'd manage mother and manage the servants, and tell them not to be such geese as to be afraid of me. For, of course, you know, I can't help being a changeling."

"Now, Irene, you must listen to me. I ought to be in bed and asleep. People will hear us talking, and I won't allow the door to be locked, whether you like it or not, because it is against the rules."

"Gracious!" said Irene, "couldn't we both get out of the window, and climb down by the wistaria and the ivy, and reach the ground, and go and hide in the plantation? We could spend the night there, locked in each other's arms, so happy—oh, so happy! By the way, I saw a little summer-house—we could spend the night in the summer-house, couldn't we? Couldn't we?"

It was a temptation. Rosamund was fond of adventures. The night was a very hot one; the room was close. Outside, there were stars innumerable. Mrs. Merriman, the only person who ever invaded the girls' bedrooms after the hours of repose, would certainly not intrude upon Rosamund. It would be nice to spend one night with her friend. Could she call Irene her friend? Anyhow, it would be nice to spend one night in the open air, and she could influence Irene and help her, and——But then there was the word of honor.

"I can't," she said. "I would have liked it, of course. But I will tell you what happened. When I got back home the other night I saw Professor Merriman, and he was very angry with me, and he said that I ought not to have disobeyed him. I told him all about you, and"——

"Of course he hates me, horrid old frump!" said Irene. "But you are not going to mind him. Why, mother has been writing to him, and writing to your mother, too; and the one thing about you that I don't quite like is that mother had evidently been thinking that you have been sent as a sort of Providence here to reform me. You must see by my making that remark that I tolerate you very much indeed, or I should not endure it. There, it's a fact that I do care for you. I don't mind mother, and I don't mind your mother; but I am willing to be a little bit good if you are with me. But I am not going away from you now. You can choose whether you have me in your room all night or whether you and I spend a happy time in that dear little bower in the plantation."

"I cannot choose either," said Rosamund stoutly, "for I will tell you what did happen. I promised Professor Merriman that I would have nothing to do with you for a whole week. At the end of that time I was to give him my decision. Now, this is Wednesday, so the week won't be up until Sunday. So you must go, Irene. You must go at once. I will meet you at the end of the week, or, if you prefer it, I will go down to Professor Merriman now and tell him that you came in, and that I asked you to go."

"Oh, what a mean spitfire of a thing you'd be if you did that!" said Irene, her eyes flashing with anger. "You can't mean it—you simply can't."

Just then there was the noise of approaching footsteps on the landing outside, and the handle of the door was turned. In a flash, so quickly that even Rosamund could not believe her own eyes, Irene was hiding under the bed, and Lucy Merriman entered.

Lucy looked prim and neat, as usual, in her white dressing-gown and her hair in a long plait down her back.

"I have come for—but surely you were talking to some one?" she said, addressing Rosamund.

"I sometimes repeat poems to myself," said Rosamund, who was standing with her back to Lucy, quivering all over with indignation.

"But I heard two voices; and it is against the rules for any noise to be made in the bedrooms after ten o'clock. I have come for——"

"Do you mind telling me what you have come for, so that you may get it and go?" was Rosamund's response.

"You are exceedingly impertinent," said Lucy. "Why do you always address me as you do? You try your utmost to make me unhappy in my own home."

"And you, instead of treating me as an honored guest, try your utmost to make me miserable," was Rosamund's quick reply. "Never mind," she continued, hot passion getting the better of her; "I shall not be with you much longer."

"That is quite nice—that is what I hoped," said Lucy almost gleefully. "Well, Jane Denton is very bad, and they are thinking of sending for the doctor. Of course, you don't care whether your friend lives or dies. Anyhow, I have been sent to fetch a bottle of aromatic vinegar which Jane, poor girl! said she had left on her washhand-stand. Ah! here it is."

Lucy took it up. She looked round the room. Poor Rosamund's terror can be better imagined than described, for the wicked Irene had lifted the valance of the bed, and her bright eyes and a tiny portion of her face could be distinctly seen by any one who happened to glance in that direction. Had Lucy seen her she must have screamed, for nothing more elfish than that face could be imagined. As it was, all might have been well had not Irene, just as Lucy was reaching the door, given a low, wild whoop, and then disappeared again under the valance of the bed.

"Now, I know you have some one there."

"If you are not afraid of rats you had better look," was Rosamund's quick response. But she turned very pale, and Lucy, who was something of a coward herself, said after a minute's pause:

"Rats! You know there are no rats in the house. What fresh insult will you bestow upon us?"

A moment later she had vanished from the room. Rosamund put both her hands to her hot ears. Irene sprang from her hiding-place.

"Didn't I do it well? Oh, what a hateful, hateful girl she is! Now, Rosamund—Rose—whatever you call yourself—you had better just get right out of this window with me as fast as ever you can, or you'll have Lucy bringing her precious governesses, and her mother, and that sick girl, Jane Denton—how dare she call herself Jane, my dear mother's name?—as well as the Professor himself, on the scene to hunt for the rats. Come, Rose, out with you! We will lock the door first, and then all will be safe."

It seemed to Rosamund at the moment that even her word of honor had vanished out of sight, for her hatred of Lucy had really reached boiling-point. She did turn the key in the lock, knowing well that no one would break open the door until the morning; and a minute later she and Irene had escaped by the window, and gone down hand over hand by the wistaria and ivy until they reached the ground. Three minutes later they were ensconced in the old summer-house, where they sat very close to each other, Irene not talking much, and Rosamund wondering what was to become of her.

"It seems to me," said Rosamund to herself, as she looked down on the little creature who nestled up almost like a wild bird in her arms, "that I have burnt my boats, and that I cannot go back. But there is one thing certain: I will tell the Professor the truth in the morning."

All that Irene did, however, during the long hours of that summer's night was to lie fast asleep with Rosamund's arm round her. But just before she fell into slumber, Rosamund said:

"Aren't you cold, Irene? Surely you are not accustomed, even in the middle of summer, to wear so little clothing at night."

"Bless you!" said Irene, "half the nights of my life I sleep in the boat. I go out just as night falls, and none of them can ever catch me; and there I sleep, curled up in the bottom of the boat. Oh! it is splendid to wake in the early morning and to hear the birds singing, and to feel the fresh, fresh air on my face. I was never meant for civilization. When you come to live with me we will do the same, both of us. We'll be an uncivilized pair of terrors—that is what we will be. If you come to me, Rosamund, will you promise to be quite naughty? You won't turn awfully goody-goody, just to make me goody-goody?"

"I can promise nothing at present," said Rosamund. "You did exceedingly wrong to come, and I did worse to yield to you, and to get out of the window, and to spend the night with you, as I have done. I don't know what will happen in the morning—I really don't—and my friend so very ill, too."

"Oh, bother your friend!" said Irene; and then she dropped off asleep, and Rosamund sat and thought things out.

At first the night-air was delightful; but as the hours went by poor Rosamund, who had not brought any extra wrap with her in her hasty flight, felt chilled and tired. She woke Irene when the sun was high in the heavens.

"Come," she said, "I have broken my word of honor, and for you; but I am going now to take you back as far as The Follies. What will happen afterwards I do not know, and you mustn't ask me. If you don't come quietly at once I will never have anything more to do with you as long as I live. Get up! come along!"

"Why, you are quite cross; but you look very handsome, and I admire your ways," said Irene. "Dear, dear! Wasn't it lovely sleeping in your arms? We will sleep together in a cosy bed at The Follies, won't we, darling?"

"I can't make any promises. I don't know what is going to happen. Come quickly. I want to be in the house and up in my own room before any one discovers that I spent the night out."

There seemed reason in this to Irene, and she suffered her friend to walk with her along the road. It was a glorious summer morning; but at so early an hour—not yet five o'clock—the air was cool. Exercise, however, soon revived Rosamund, and she lost that feeling of chill and fatigue which had made the latter part of the night so unpleasant to her. As to Irene, she was as fresh as a young bird, and the pranks she played, and the somersaults she turned, and the extraordinary manner in which she went on would have terrified many girls, although Rosamund scarcely noticed them. She had already discovered that Irene's bark was worse than her bite, and the best plan was to let her alone and not to take too much notice of her vagaries.

The two girls parted at the gates of The Follies, Irene assuring Rosamund that she was going to lay all sorts of traps for the servants during the next couple of hours.

"I shall have great fun," she said. "They have been more than usually troublesome lately, and I want every one to go, so that we can have a fresh batch in their places when you come, darling; for you will come—I know you will—early next week. And, Rose, I will even be a little bit good for you."

There was a suspicion of tears in the wild, star-like eyes, and then the queer little creature flashed out of sight.

Rosamund stood still for a minute with her hand to her forehead. She then slowly retraced her steps. She was so lost in thought that she did not notice the milkman as he rattled along with his cart; nor did she notice the doctor, who passed in his gig, driving rapidly back to Dartford. He, however, stared very hard at the good-looking girl, evidently a lady, who was out all alone at that early hour.

By-and-by Rosamund got back to Sunnyside. She climbed up the ivy and wistaria and re-entered her own room. She carefully shut the window, unlocked her door, undressed, and got into bed. Her first impulse had been to tell the whole story of her night's adventure to Professor Merriman; for she felt that, stern as he could be, there was also something gentle about him, and he would certainly understand her. But on second thought the desire to confide in him passed out of sight, more particularly as there was a noise and confusion—a sort of stifled confusion—in the house: people hurrying backwards and forwards, and voices sunk to whispers, which came sometimes to Rosamund's ears, and sometimes receded in the distance.

By-and-by she looked at her watch and saw that it was half-past seven, the usual hour for the girls to get up. But no one had brought hot water, and no one had called her. She felt really dead-tired at last. What did anything matter? She had got herself into such a serious scrape that she did not think she could possibly stay more than a day or two longer at the Merrimans' school. Of course she would be dismissed, expelled, disgraced. But she did not care. She was sorry for Jane—quiet, gentle Jane—who had always been her devoted friend; but she did not mind anybody else. Laura Everett she rather liked; but the other girls were indifferent to her, with the exception of Lucy, whom she cordially hated. Before she knew where she was, Rosamund was sound asleep.



CHAPTER X.

JANE IN DANGER.

Rosamund was awakened from her slumbers by Laura Everett, who shook her lightly by the shoulder.

"Why, Rose," she said, "I wish you'd wake up. We are all in such a state of confusion and anxiety. Have you the least idea what the hour is?"

"No. Where am I?" said Rosamund, sitting up in bed and pushing back her hair.

"Well, it is close on nine o'clock. We had breakfast anyhow this morning, for nothing is in order. I cannot even explain how bad things are."

"Try and tell me, Laura; don't keep me in suspense."

"It's Jane, of course."

"My friend Jane?"

"You heard last night that she was very ill. Lucy told you. Lucy has been talking about you. She said you were very queer when she came in here last night, and didn't show a scrap of feeling. But I am sure you are sorry for her. She is in great danger, Rosamund."

"Jane in danger!"

Rosamund had always been fond of Jane, but she had never thought her of the slightest importance. She had always thought of her as just a good sort to have as a friend; but all the admiration must be on the friend's side, who must do all that Rosamund wished—for she, Rosamund, would not put herself out for her friend. But now things were changed. Jane Denton was the heroine of the hour. No one else in the whole of that house was thought of in comparison with Jane. For the symptoms of the night before had developed in a most aggravating way. She had grown worse and worse; in short, she was so alarmingly ill that when Lucy came into the room Mrs. Merriman had decided to send for the doctor from Dartford. He was obliged to drive over, there being no train so late at night. When he saw her he pronounced her illness to be diphtheria. How she had got it nobody knew; but diphtheria Jane had, and of the most malignant type.

"What is it?" said Rosamund, now turning to Laura, who sat down on the edge of her bed. "You think I have no heart, but you are mistaken."

Her bright eyes filled with tears, and Laura was softened at once.

"I knew you had a heart, dear," she said. "But the fact is, you never understood Lucy. I like Lucy, and you don't—there lies the difference between us. Lucy misunderstood you. She said that, instead of going to bed, you were making a most awful noise, reciting poetry to yourself in two distinct voices, and that an extraordinary noise came from under the bed, and you declared it was rats. But she thinks you are a sort of ventriloquist, and can throw your voice anywhere you like. She was absolutely frightened, and rushed out of the room."

"Well, the doctor arrived about two o'clock in the morning, and he stayed until early morning; and now the whole school knows, and what is to be done is more than I can tell. The doctor wants us all to leave the house."

"I shan't go," said Rosamund stoutly.

"What do you mean, Rose? You mustn't think of yourself at a moment like this."

"I shall stay and nurse Jane. She is my friend. Don't keep me, please, Laura. What a horrible creature I have been! Oh, dear! oh, dear! Do you know where the Professor is, Laura?"

"I believe he is out, but I don't know. Mrs. Merriman is looking after Jane at present. But, Rose, you won't be allowed to see her. The doctor has forbidden any single individual except Mrs. Merriman to go into her room, or to have anything whatever to do with her. You mustn't disobey orders. A trained nurse is coming, and will be here in a very short time. Perhaps there will be two nurses. They are going to try that new treatment—antitoxin. Poor Jane's room is not so very far from where I sleep, and I heard her groaning in the night. To think of our all being so happy yesterday, and now this coming!"

"I know," said Rosamund in a low tone. She had never expressed herself so before. There was a lump in her throat.

Laura went away and soon entered the schoolroom, where Lucy and the other girls, all looking pale and anxious, were standing about. Laura went straight up to Lucy.

"Well," said Lucy, "is that thoughtless, heartless creature awake yet? Is she thinking of any one but herself?"

"Oh, yes, I woke her. She isn't heartless. I wish just at present, when we are in such anxiety, you would try to be kinder, Lucy, and"——

Laura's voice suddenly broke.

Rosamund presently came downstairs. She wanted to find the Professor. She wanted she knew not what. As a matter of fact, he was not to be found, for he had gone by the very earliest train to Dartford to see Mr. and Mrs. Brett.

The upshot of this visit was that soon Mrs. Brett's large, pale face, with its light-blue eyes and gentle smile, was seen passing the window. The Professor was with her. All the girls rushed out with a sudden sense of relief to greet her.

"Oh, Aunt Susan, we are so glad you have come!" said Lucy, her own little face quivering with sudden emotion.

"My dear, dear children," said Mrs. Brett, "I have come to take you away with me—that is, all of you who can come. My husband and I are a childless couple, and we have plenty of room in our house. You must just pack your things and come along. That is what I have come for. There is a nurse coming to look after the poor girl who is so dreadfully ill.—Lucy, dear, your father is particularly anxious that you should come—yes, and all the rest of you, for that matter. I can squeeze you all in; but I cannot manage the governesses, that is the only thing. All the rest—every single one of you—must come. Rosamund, you, of course; and, Laura, you also. Annie Millar—yes, certainly—and Phyllis Flower, and Agnes Sparkes—every single one of you shall come back with me. It will be Poverty Castle, my loves, and we'll have to stint and scrape and contrive; but at any rate we'll be merry when we can be merry, and we'll forget our troubles in doing good to others."

Nothing could exceed the heartiness of Mrs. Brett's manner. Her very smile brought sunshine with it, and her firm voice confidence. It seemed in a minute to those agitated and unhappy girls that a ray of sunlight had fallen upon them, and that the world was not quite so miserable after all.

They were still standing talking eagerly in the hall when a fly drew up at the door and Dr. Marshall stepped out. He had, in fact, followed Mrs. Brett and the Professor up from the station. He saw Rosamund, and recognized her as the girl he had seen some hours before walking alone along the high-road. He went up to her and put his hand on her shoulder.

"Are you one of the young ladies who live here?"

"Yes," she replied, glancing at him in surprise, for so lost had she been in her own thoughts that she had positively hardly observed him when he swiftly passed her in the early morning.

"Then I congratulate you upon your powers of early rising."

Rosamund colored. Lucy's eyes were fixed on her face.

"My dear Miss Lucy," said the doctor, "your friend, Miss"——

"My name is Rosamund Cunliffe," said Rosamund.

"Your friend Miss Cunliffe has put all the rest of you young ladies to shame. She was walking abroad this morning between four and five o'clock at some distance from here."

Lucy's eyes flashed fire. Rosamund found herself turning pale. The Professor looked at her. Suddenly Rosamund went up to the Professor and took his hand.

"I want to speak to you, and alone," she said.

"In a moment, my dear," he answered.

He then turned to the doctor.

"Mrs. Brett, my kind sister-in-law, has promised to take all my young people to her house in Dartford," he said. "She proposes that they should return with her immediately. Then the house will be quite quiet for the invalid, and there will be no danger of the disease spreading."

"If it does spread I shall be on the spot to grapple with it," said Dr. Marshall.—"What an excellent plan, Mrs. Brett, and how exactly like you!—Now then, young ladies, the sooner you pack up the better. You needn't take a great many things; they can be sent to you afterwards. The great thing is to get away. It may be in the air; it may be—we cannot tell what; but the sooner all of you young people are out of Sunnyside the safer it will be."

"It would not be fair," said the Professor, "to ask the Singletons to take any of them in. We did think of that at first. We know how particularly kind Mr. Singleton is. But there are his own children to be thought of; and as he is the rector of the parish he has also to consider his parishioners."

"I am the woman who has to act in this emergency," said Mrs. Brett; "and now the sooner we drop the subject of whys and wherefores the better.—Run upstairs, my dears, and get ready.—I will not even see my dear sister, Mrs. Merriman, for fear of infection; but you will know where to find me if you want my help."

"I don't think we shall need it," said the doctor. "Two excellent nurses are coming by the next train, and I shall leave full directions, and my assistant will come out to see the patient this evening.—Now, if you will kindly allow me to pass, young ladies, I will go and see the invalid, and I will not see any of you again afterwards. It is safer not."

There was a look on his face which startled and brought back some of the nervousness of most of the girls. But Mrs. Brett, or Aunt Susan, as Lucy called her, was all smiles and benediction.

"My dears," she said in her motherly way, "there is room enough and to spare in my house for every one of you—room enough and to spare. You shall have the heartiest welcome."

Here Mrs. Brett went up to Rosamund, and, rather to the surprise of the others, elected her for a resounding kiss on the cheek.

"My dear, a girl who can go out and take a walk at so early an hour in the morning is quite after my own heart."

"But, Aunt Susan," interrupted Lucy, "do you really approve of a girl who burns the candle at both ends? It so happens that I was obliged to invade Rosamund's room last night, and I heard her reciting poetry in two voices, and then I heard her throw her voice into a distant part of the room, so that you might almost imagine that she was a ventriloquist. It was nearly eleven o'clock, and the doctor said he saw her walking along the high-road between four and five this morning. Don't you think it is too much for her strength?"

"Never mind, dear," said Mrs. Brett, who was as kind in heart as her face appeared. "I admire energy; but the energy of the young is sometimes misdirected. When dear Rosamund comes to stay with me I will show her one or two things.—You won't mind getting a wrinkle or two from an old woman, will you, Rose?"

"No," said Rosamund, who was absolutely torn in the midst of many conflicting emotions: her anxiety for her friend, her knowledge of what had happened the night before, her ever-increasing dislike to Lucy—and, in fact, the whole false position in which she found herself—all distressed her beyond measure.

Again she touched the Professor on the arm.

"I want to say something," she remarked, and she turned and faced the other girls.—"Before I decide to go with Mrs. Brett I must speak to Professor Merriman."

"But there is no time, my dear," said Mrs. Brett. "Our train leaves in three-quarters of an hour. Each girl will please pack a small bag, if she possesses such a useful commodity, and we must walk as fast as ever we can to the station, for my poor dear husband has no end of things for me to attend to to-day, and the moment we get to Dartford we shall have to bustle about, I can tell you. There'll be no time for whims and fancies, or even for lessons; for there is to be an enormous tea-fight, as I call it, for the young folk of the parish in the schoolhouse this afternoon, and games afterwards, and recitations; and if you, Rosamund, can recite as well as Lucy has described, why, you will be invaluable."

"But I can't recite. Lucy is mistaken," said Rosamund.—"Professor, may I speak to you?—Mrs. Brett, if you are in a hurry, I will follow you by a later train, if it is decided that I am to go to you."

Here the determined girl took the Professor by the arm, and leading him into the study, shut the door behind them, and turned and faced him.

"I have been exceedingly naughty. I have broken my word of honor."

Now, the Professor, who was always extremely dreamy, had nearly forgotten Rosamund's transgression of the previous Sunday. He did not speak at all for a minute, but looked at her in puzzled astonishment.

"You have broken your word of honor?" he said. "We are in great trouble. I hope you are not now beginning to be taken up with whims and fancies. If so, please transfer them to a more convenient season. I am harassed about my books, my—my dear wife, and that poor girl. By the way, she is your friend, too. I can quite understand that you are grieved on her account."

"I am terribly grieved. I do not wish to leave. I should like to stay and help to look after her."

"But that cannot be permitted. That would be an act of the greatest selfishness. What we require you to do is to leave the house before you are infected—you even more than the others, for you have been in the same room with her."

"I do not think I am infected. I cannot imagine how Jane caught diphtheria. I did see her bending down over a drain the other day. She had dropped her pencil and was trying to find it. I told her not to do it, and even dragged her away. I am sure I am all right, and I should not allow her to breathe on me, and I think I could help."

"It is generous of you, my dear, but it cannot possibly be permitted," said the Professor. "I will relate that little circumstance to my wife. Not that it matters, after all, how we get our diseases; the thing is to cure them when we have acquired them. However, I will mention the circumstance to my dear wife."

"Please do. Now, I have something to confess. You heard what Lucy said: that I was reciting poetry, that I was using two voices, that I was a sort of ventriloquist. You heard what Dr. Marshall said: that he saw me on the high-road at a very early hour this morning. Now, I was not reciting last night; I was talking to another girl, and no less a girl than that one I had promised you to have no communication with for a whole week—Irene Ashleigh. Please hear me out before you speak. I did not ask her to come to me. She came on her own account. I did mean to keep my word of honor; but Irene, poor little girl! had taken a liking to me. I had managed, I don't know how, to touch something sympathetic in her heart, and she was hungering for me, and you had forbidden me to go to her. So last night, after I came to bed, she was in my room. She had got in by the window. Oh, don't look at me with those startled eyes! I do not wish her to be blamed, and I was not to blame when I found her there, for I did mean to keep my word of honor. She begged of me to lock the door, but I refused; and I think I was almost inducing her to leave the house, and to go home, when Lucy burst into the room. Lucy came to fetch something for Mrs. Merriman—something that Jane wanted—and Irene was under the bed like a flash. It was she who made that noise that Lucy attributed to me. Then afterwards I felt reckless, and I did lock the door, and I did go out by the open window, and I spent the night in the summer-house with little Irene, and this morning I walked back with her to The Follies. Now you know what I am. You see I am not worth saving; and I want to tell you that if you will not have me here, then I will go to Lady Jane, and tell her the entire story, and ask her if I may stay with her—at least until the time of infection is over. That is what I wish to do; but I will not go in the dark. I have told you how naughty I have been, and you can punish me by expelling me from the school. But, please, quite understand that your daughter has provoked me a great deal, and that I did make an effort—at least at first—to keep my word of honor."

Rosamund's voice dropped. In truth, the emotions of the previous day, the night before, and this morning had been too many for her. She trembled, and finally, to the great astonishment of the Professor, burst into tears. Now, no one ever had higher principles than Professor Merriman, but no man ever had a greater horror of tears. He could not bear what Rosamund had told him; he could not understand how, under any provocation, a girl could act as Rosamund had done; and yet, at the same time, her tears so maddened him that he would have done anything to get rid of her.

"You bewilder me," he said. "Of course, you did wrong. Do you wish to go with Mrs. Brett? I will see you presently and speak to you."

"If you will not have me here, I will not go with Mrs. Brett. I will go to Lady Jane; for there is one person who wants me, although you will not believe it!"

"Then please yourself; but I grieve to tell you that after your recent conduct I cannot receive you again at the school."

Rosamund left the room with a proud step, but there was something in her heart which danced.



CHAPTER XI.

BOOBY-TRAPS.

Lady Jane Ashleigh was sitting at her early breakfast. She always breakfasted alone in a beautiful little room which her late husband had specially furnished for her. It was a room full of memories, for she had passionately loved her husband, and had never ceased to mourn his death. If she had been a more cheerful and less self-concentrated woman she might long ago have won the love of her queer and erratic little daughter. As it was, during her husband's lifetime she thought of no one but him, and since his death her best thoughts were devoted to his memory: to keep flowers always on his grave; to see that his portrait was dusted day after day, and that flowers were put under it; to kneel there and utter prayers that he and she might be reunited in a better world, absorbed her strongest thoughts.

Of late, however, Irene's queer conduct had terrified her very much. Too late she discovered that she had no hold over the child, and the child was now a source of misery to her. She could not manage Irene. The servants were afraid of her. No governess would stay long. In short, she was drifting from bad to worse; and yet it was impossible for Lady Jane not to love the queer, erratic little creature. Often at night, when Irene was sound asleep, the mother would steal into the room and look at the pretty face, quite soft then, with all the wildness gone out of it. She used to look down at the long, curling black lashes, on the pale, smooth, rounded cheeks, at the wealth of dark curling hair, and wonder and wonder why the child ever and always turned from her, why she never reposed confidence in her, why she left her to live apart. If by any chance Lady Jane made a noise while she was in Irene's room and awakened that small sprite, then the scene would change. Irene would spring up in bed, dare her mother to invade her slumbers, and frighten her with immediately vanishing into the night-air and spending the rest of her time in the boat.

A short time ago, Irene had insisted on locking her door, and on one occasion had managed through utter carelessness to set fire to a curtain. Her own bravery had quenched the flames before any mischief was done; but the household had been alarmed, the room forcibly burst open, and the child, whose arm was badly burned, was carried fainting from the room. After that Lady Jane removed all keys and bolts from the door, and no entreaties on Irene's part could induce her to have them put back.

On this lovely summer's morning Lady Jane was eating her delicate breakfast in her usual delicate way. Her thoughts were divided between her husband, whom she would never see again in this world, and the child whom she could not manage. She was also thinking of Rosamund, the daughter of her dear friend.

A servant came in with the letter-bag. Lady Jane never had any special correspondence, and she was in no hurry to open it; but having quite consumed her breakfast, she thought she might as well do so. She therefore languidly took a key from her chatelaine, inserted it into the lock, and took out the contents. She found amongst many other letters one from her old friend, Rosamund's mother.

Mrs. Cunliffe wrote to say that she was glad Lady Jane liked Rosamund, and gave her hearty consent to Rosamund's spending a good deal of her time at Lady Jane's house.

"I may as well tell you," continued the mother, "that Rosamund herself is somewhat difficult to manage. I have always found her so; but hitherto nothing has gone very wrong between us, because I have led her by the golden rule of love. I have never driven her in any respect. I heard a great deal of the Merrimans, the dear Professor, whose books are so well known, and the charming little school they proposed to open; and when I found that the school was in your neighborhood, my dear old friend, I decided to send Rosamund there. I am writing now to Professor and Mrs. Merriman to say that I wish Rosamund to spend as much time as ever she can spare at your house and in the company of your sweet little girl. By the way, you have told me nothing about her. She must be about twelve years old now. Rosamund, dear child, is fifteen. I can fancy what a comfort the little Irene must be to her mother, so gentle and sweet, just like what that mother was when I was a somewhat wild and erratic girl myself."

"Alas and alack!" thought poor Lady Jane, "how very little my dear friend knows of the sort of creature whom Providence has bestowed upon me as a child!"

Just at that moment the room door was burst open, and Miss Frost, in tears, her nose very red, her agitation extreme, followed by Irene, entered the room.

"She has poisoned me! She has absolutely poisoned me!" said the unfortunate governess, sinking on the first chair she could find. "She brought me my pills as usual this morning—you know I am ordered pills for indigestion—and after I had swallowed them she announced that she had changed them for wood-lice, which curl up as you touch them."

"It was such fun!" laughed Irene. "Oh, Frosty, Frosty, it was delicious!"

"But what a wicked thing for you to do, Irene!" said her mother.

"They will multiply inside me," said poor Miss Frost. "Oh, what is to be done? Can a doctor be summoned at once?"

"I am sure there can be no danger," said poor Lady Jane; "but it was a wicked trick to play, Irene. But I believe wood-lice are harmless, and I suppose they are dead. Still, Irene, your conduct is disgraceful. You are really past bearing."

"All right, mumsy!" said Irene in a most cheerful tone. "I don't mind how much you scold me, for I had such a happy time while I was watching Frosty swallowing those digestive pills! She thought me so attentive, because as a rule I don't take any interest in her pills. I found a lot of the dear little wood-lice in the garden this morning, and it suddenly darted through my mind that they could be swallowed just like pills. So I put them into a box and rattled them well, and brought them to Frosty, and opened the box and said to her, 'Here, Frosty, here are your digestive pills;' and she had swallowed two before she found out what she had done. The rest began to uncurl in the box, and she discovered what had happened. Oh, it was lovely to see her face!—You do feel bad, don't you? You'd like to go at once, wouldn't you, darling? I am so awfully anxious for you to go!"

"But if—if," said poor Miss Frost—"if you really think that the pills—I really can't call them by the other name—will do no harm, it seems almost a"——

"I tell you what I will do," said Lady Jane. "I will send you straight into Dartford to see Dr. Marshall. He will tell you what is best to be done. But I feel sure you are quite safe.—Irene, you are so naughty that I cannot speak to you."

Miss Frost, who did not dare to give up her lucrative situation, left the room. Lady Jane went to the bell and rang it. A servant was desired to have the carriage ordered immediately, and the unhappy and perplexed governess was soon out of the house on her way to Dartford to see Dr. Marshall or one of his assistants.

Meanwhile Irene, in the red dress she had worn all night, very much crumpled, very much disheveled and soiled, sat down and fixed her bright eyes on her parent.

"So she is not to go!"

"Was that why you did it, Irene?"

"Of course," said Irene in a laconic voice, "I'll have to think of something else. She is an extraordinary woman is Frosty. I got rid of Carter. You know how I got rid of her."

"You mustn't speak of it—it is too painful."

"Well, I'll have to get rid of Frosty."

"Now listen to me, Irene. Your governess is not to go."

"Mumsy dear, why that tone? You know you are a little bit afraid of your Irene, aren't you?"

Irene danced up to her parent and looked at her with eyes bright as stars. Suddenly she flung herself on her knees by her mother's side.

"You didn't by any chance come to see me in my little bed last night?" she asked. "You didn't come perhaps in the early morning? You didn't quote those well-known lines:

What does little birdie say In its nest at peep of day?

Mumsy dear, did you?"

"No, Irene; I was occupied with other things—with sad, very sad memories. This is the anniversary of your dear, your precious father's death."

Irene had the grace to be silent for a moment. After a pause she said, "I did remember that yesterday morning; and knowing that you'd be frightfully dumpy—oh, mummy! you know you never are cheerful—I thought I'd have a spree on my own account. So I tell you what I did, mothery."

Lady Jane looked with absolute fear into Irene's face. After a time her eyes slowly welled up with tears.

"I can't imagine what I have done," she said. "I often wonder beyond words why I am given such a very naughty child—a child who understands me so very little, who cannot sympathize with my sorrows and cannot understand my griefs, and who contrives to make others miserable. It is your cruelty that is so terrible, Irene."

"My cruelty!" said Irene, opening her bright eyes wide. Something seemed to hurt her. It was the first time Lady Jane had ever seen a spark of real feeling in this extraordinary child. "Well, now, listen," she said. "I spent the night with Rosamund—dear Rosamund Cunliffe."

"You ran away from home and spent the night at the Merrimans'?"

"Oh, you needn't be afraid. I didn't even occupy one of their rooms long, and certainly didn't break bread with them. I wouldn't break bread in the house with that Lucy for all you could give me. Nevertheless, I spent the night with Rosamund. Oh, she is a splendid creature! She is jolly enough, and she is brave enough. Why, she let me strike her on the cheek as hard as ever I could, and didn't utter a word. I wanted her to lock the door, and she had some queer notions about it that I couldn't fathom; and when I struck her on her cheek, she only just offered me the other, and said, 'You may do what you like, but I will not lock the door.'

"Now, mother, if you'd stand up to me like that I'd just respect you. Anyhow, I respect Rosamund, and I dare say I'd have had to spend the night in her room, or perhaps even have had to come home, but something most welcome happened. Thank goodness, Rosamund isn't a prig! She's awfully passionate, and has plenty of strong feelings. She's not a bit a goody-goody; I'd just hate her like anything if she were. But that Lucy—you know that prim thing, the daughter of the Professor and Mrs. Merriman? Well, she came into the room, and I was under the bed in a twinkling. She argued with Rosamund and found fault with her, and got dear old Rose into a towering passion. Well, after that I could do what I liked with her. She did lock the door, although she vowed she wouldn't at first; and we got out through the window, and spent the night in the summer-house in the plantation. I put my head on her lap, and she put her arms round me and tried to keep me warm; and then I went off to sleep so happily, for somehow or other—I didn't think I could ever love anybody, but somehow or other there is a sort of feeling in me that perhaps is love for her. I think I could even be good for her.