Miss De Sor and Miss Wyvil were still sitting together under thetrees, talking of the murder at the inn.

"And is that really all you can tell me?" said Francine.

"That is all," Cecilia answered.

"Is there no love in it?"

"None that I know of."

"It's the most uninteresting murder that ever was committed. Whatshall we do with ourselves? I'm tired of being here in thegarden. When do the performances in the schoolroom begin?"

"Not for two hours yet."

Francine yawned. "And what part do you take in it?" she asked.

"No part, my dear. I tried once--only to sing a simple littlesong. When I found myself standing before all the company and sawrows of ladies and gentlemen waiting for me to begin, I was sofrightened that Miss Ladd had to make an apology for me. I didn'tget over it for the rest of the day. For the first time in mylife, I had no appetite for my dinner. Horrible!" said Cecilia,shuddering over the remembrance of it. "I do assure you, Ithought I was going to die."

Perfectly unimpressed by this harrowing narrative, Francineturned her head lazily toward the house. The door was thrown openat the same moment. A lithe little person rapidly descended thesteps that led to the lawn.

"It's Emily come back again," said Francine.

"And she seems to be rather in a hurry," Cecilia remarked.

Francine's satirical smile showed itself for a moment. Did thisappearance of hurry in Emily's movements denote impatience toresume the recital of "the dagger-scene"? She had no book in herhand; she never even looked toward Francine. Sorrow becameplainly visible in her face as she approached the two girls.

Cecilia rose in alarm. She had been the first person to whomEmily had confided her domestic anxieties. "Bad news from youraunt?" she asked.

"No, my dear; no news at all." Emily put her arms tenderly roundher friend's neck. "The time has come, Cecilia," she said. "Wemust wish each other good-by."

"Is Mrs. Rook here already?"

"It's _you_, dear, who are going," Emily answered sadly. "Theyhave sent the governess to fetch you. Miss Ladd is too busy inthe schoolroom to see her--and she has told me all about it.Don't be alarmed. There is no bad news from home. Your plans arealtered; that's all."

"Altered?" Cecilia repeated. "In what way?"

"In a very agreeable way--you are going to travel. Your fatherwishes you to be in London, in time for the evening mail toFrance."

Cecilia guessed what had happened. "My sister is not gettingwell," she said, "and the doctors are sending her to theContinent."

"To the baths at St. Moritz," Emily added. "There is only onedifficulty in the way; and you can remove it. Your sister has thegood old governess to take care of her, and the courier torelieve her of all trouble on the journey. They were to havestarted yesterday. You know how fond Julia is of you. At the lastmoment, she won't hear of going away, unless you go too. Therooms are waiting at St. Moritz; and your father is annoyed (thegoverness says) by the delay that has taken place already."

She paused. Cecilia was silent. "Surely you don't hesitate?"Emily said.

"I am too happy to go wherever Julia go es," Cecilia answeredwarmly; "I was thinking of you, dear." Her tender nature,shrinking from the hard necessities of life, shrank from thecruelly-close prospect of parting. "I thought we were to have hadsome hours together yet," she said. "Why are we hurried in thisway? There is no second train to London, from our station, tilllate in the afternoon."

"There is the express," Emily reminded her; "and there is time tocatch it, if you drive at once to the town." She took Cecilia'shand and pressed it to her bosom. "Thank you again and again,dear, for all you have done for me. Whether we meet again or not,as long as I live I shall love you. Don't cry!" She made a faintattempt to resume her customary gayety, for Cecilia's sake. "Tryto be as hard-hearted as I am. Think of your sister--don't thinkof me. Only kiss me."

Cecilia's tears fell fast. "Oh, my love, I am so anxious aboutyou! I am so afraid that you will not be happy with that selfishold man--in that dreary house. Give it up, Emily! I have gotplenty of money for both of us; come abroad with me. Why not? Youalways got on well with Julia, when you came to see us in theholidays. Oh, my darling! my darling! What shall I do withoutyou?"

All that longed for love in Emily's nature had clung round herschool-friend since her father's death. Turning deadly pale underthe struggle to control herself, she made the effort--and borethe pain of it without letting a cry or a tear escape her. "Ourways in life lie far apart," she said gently. "There is the hopeof meeting again, dear--if there is nothing more."

The clasp of Cecilia's arm tightened round her. She tried torelease herself; but her resolution had reached its limits. Herhands dropped, trembling. She could still try to speakcheerfully, and that was all.

"There is not the least reason, Cecilia, to be anxious about myprospects. I mean to be Sir Jervis Redwood's favorite before Ihave been a week in his service."

She stopped, and pointed to the house. The governess wasapproaching them. "One more kiss, darling. We shall not forgetthe happy hours we have spent together; we shall constantly writeto each other." She broke down at last. "Oh, Cecilia! Cecilia!leave me for God's sake--I can't bear it any longer!"

The governess parted them. Emily dropped into the chair that herfriend had left. Even her hopeful nature sank under the burden oflife at that moment.

A hard voice, speaking close at her side, startled her.

"Would you rather be Me," the voice asked, "without a creature tocare for you?"

Emily raised her head. Francine, the unnoticed witness of theparting interview, was standing by her, idly picking the leavesfrom a rose which had dropped out of Cecilia's nosegay.

Had she felt her own isolated position? She had felt itresentfully.

Emily looked at her, with a heart softened by sorrow. There wasno answering kindness in the eyes of Miss de Sor--there was onlya dogged endurance, sad to see in a creature so young.

"You and Cecilia are going to write to each other," she said. "Isuppose there is some comfort in that. When I left the islandthey were glad to get rid of me. They said, 'Telegraph when youare safe at Miss Ladd's school.' You see, we are so rich, theexpense of telegraphing to the West Indies is nothing to us.Besides, a telegram has an advantage over a letter--it doesn'ttake long to read. I daresay I shall write home. But they are inno hurry; and I am in no hurry. The school's breaking up; you aregoing your way, and I am going mine--and who cares what becomesof me? Only an ugly old schoolmistress, who is paid for caring. Iwonder why I am saying all this? Because I like you? I don't knowthat I like you any better than you like me. When I wanted to befriends with you, you treated me coolly; I don't want to forcemyself on you. I don't particularly care about you. May I writeto you from Brighton?"

Under all this bitterness--the first exhibition of Francine'stemper, at its worst, which had taken place since she joined theschool--Emily saw, or thought she saw, distress that was tooproud, or too shy, to show itself. "How can you ask thequestion?" she answered cordially.

Francine was incapable of meeting the sympathy offered to her,even half way. "Never mind how," she said. "Yes or no is all Iwant from you."

"Oh, Francine! Francine! what are you made of! Flesh and blood?or stone and iron? Write to me of course--and I will write backagain."

"Thank you. Are you going to stay here under the trees?"

"Yes."

"All by yourself?"

"All by myself."

"With nothing to do?"

"I can think of Cecilia."

Francine eyed her with steady attention for a moment.

"Didn't you tell me last night that you were very poor?" sheasked.

"I did."

"So poor that you are obliged to earn your own living?"

"Yes."

Francine looked at her again.

"I daresay you won't believe me," she said. "I wish I was you."

She turned away irritably, and walked back to the house.

Were there really longings for kindness and love under thesurface of this girl's perverse nature? Or was there nothing tobe hoped from a better knowledge of her?--In place of tenderremembrances of Cecilia, these were the perplexing and unwelcomethoughts which the more potent personality of Francine forcedupon Emily's mind.

She rose impatiently, and looked at her watch. When would it beher turn to leave the school, and begin the new life?

Still undecided what to do next, her interest was excited by theappearance of one of the servants on the lawn. The womanapproached her, and presented a visiting-card; bearing on it thename of _Sir Jervis Redwood_. Beneath the name, there was a linewritten in pencil: "Mrs. Rook, to wait on Miss Emily Brown." Theway to the new life was open before her at last!

Looking again at the commonplace announcement contained in theline of writing, she was not quite satisfied. Was it claiming adeference toward herself, to which she was not entitled, toexpect a letter either from Sir Jervis, or from Miss Redwood;giving her some information as to the journey which she was aboutto undertake, and expressing with some little politeness the wishto make her comfortable in her future home? At any rate, heremployer had done her one service: he had reminded her that herstation in life was not what it had been in the days when herfather was living, and when her aunt was in affluentcircumstances.

She looked up from the card. The servant had gone. Alban Morriswas waiting at a little distance--waiting silently until shenoticed him.