When Alban presented himself the next morning, the hours of thenight had exercised their tranquilizing influence over Emily. Sheremembered sorrowfully how Doctor Allday had disturbed her beliefin the man who loved her; no feeling of irritation remained.Alban noticed that her manner was unusually subdued; she receivedhim with her customary grace, but not with her customary smile.

"Are you not well?" he asked.

"I am a little out of spirits," she replied. "Adisappointment--that is all."

He waited a moment, apparently in the expectation that she mighttell him what the disappointment was. She remained silent, andshe looked away from him. Was he in any way answerable for thedepression of spirits to which she alluded? The doubt occurred tohim--but he said nothing.

"I suppose you have received my letter?" she resumed.

"I have come here to thank you for your letter."

"It was my duty to tell you of Sir Jervis's illness; I deserve nothanks."

"You have written to me so kindly," Alban reminded her; "you havereferred to our difference of opinion, the last time I was here,so gently and so forgivingly--"

"If I had written a little later," she interposed, "the tone ofmy letter might have been less agreeable to you. I happened tosend it to the post, before I received a visit from a friend ofyours--a friend who had something to say to me after consultingwith you."

"Do you mean Doctor Allday?"

"Yes."

"What did he say?"

"What you wished him to say. He did his best; he was as obstinateand unfeeling as you could possibly wish him to be; but he wastoo late. I have written to Mrs. Rook, and I have received areply." She spoke sadly, not angrily--and pointed to the letterlying on her desk.

Alban understood: he looked at her in despair. "Is that wretchedwoman doomed to set us at variance every time we meet!" heexclaimed.

Emily silently held out the letter.

He refused to take it. "The wrong you have done me is not to beset right in that way," he said. "You believe the doctor's visitwas arranged between us. I never knew that he intended to call onyou; I had no interest in sending him here--and I must notinterfere again between you and Mrs. Rook."

"I don't understand you."

"You will understand me when I tell you how my conversation withDoctor Allday ended. I have done with interference; I have donewith advice. Whatever my doubts may be, all further effort on mypart to justify them--all further inquiries, no matter in whatdirection--are at an end: I made the sacrifice, for your sake.No! I must repeat what you said to me just now; I deserve nothanks. What I have done, has been done in deference to DoctorAllday--against my own convictions; in spite of my own fears.Ridiculous convictions! ridiculous fears! Men with morbid mindsare their own tormentors. It doesn't matter how I suffer, so longas you are at ease. I shall never thwart you or vex you again.Have you a better opinion of me now?"

She made the best of all answers--she gave him her hand.

"May I kiss it?" he asked, as timidly as if he had been a boyaddressing his first sweetheart.

She was half inclined to laugh, and half inclined to cry. "Yes,if you like," she said softly.

"Will you let me come and see you again?"

"Gladly--when I return to London."

"You are going away?"

"I am going to Brighton this afternoon, to stay with Miss Ladd."

It was hard to lose her, on the happy day when they understoodeach other at last. An expression of disappointment passed overhis face. He rose, and walked restlessly to the window. "MissLadd?" he repeated, turning to Emily as if an idea had struckhim. "Did I hear, at the school, that Miss de Sor was to spendthe holidays under the care of Miss Ladd?"

"Yes."

"The same young lady," he went on, "who paid you a visityesterday morning?"

"The same."

That haunting distrust of the future, which he had first betrayedand then affected to ridicule, exercised its depressing influenceover his better sense. He was unreasonable enough to feeldoubtful of Francine, simply because she was a stranger.

"Miss de Sor is a new friend of yours," he said. "Do you likeher?"

It was not an easy question to answer--without entering intoparticulars which Emily's delicacy of feeling warned her toavoid. "I must know a little more of Miss de Sor," she said,"before I can decide."

Alban's misgivings were naturally encouraged by this evasivereply. He began to regret having left the cottage, on theprevious day, when he had heard that Emily was engaged. He mighthave sent in his card, and might have been admitted. It was anopportunity lost of observing Francine. On the morning of herfirst day at school, when they had accidentally met at the summerhouse, she had left a disagreeable impression on his mind. Oughthe to allow his opinion to be influenced by this circumstance? orought he to follow Emily's prudent example, and suspend judgmentuntil he knew a little more of Francine?

"Is any day fixed for your return to London?" he asked.

"Not yet," she said; "I hardly know how long my visit will be."

"In little more than a fortnight," he continued, "I shall returnto my classes--they will be dreary classes, without you. Miss deSor goes back to the school with Miss Ladd, I suppose?"

Emily was at a loss to account for the depression in his looksand tones, while he was making these unimportant inquiries. Shetried to rouse him by speaking lightly in reply.

"Miss de Sor returns in quite a new character; she is to be aguest instead of a pupil. Do you wish to be better acquaintedwith her?"

"Yes," he said grave ly, "now I know that she is a friend ofyours." He returned to his place near her. "A pleasant visitmakes the days pass quickly," he resumed. "You may remain atBrighton longer than you anticipate; and we may not meet againfor some time to come. If anything happens--"

"Do you mean anything serious?" she asked.

"No, no! I only mean--if I can be of any service. In that case,will you write to me?"

"You know I will!"

She looked at him anxiously. He had completely failed to hidefrom her the uneasy state of his mind: a man less capable ofconcealment of feeling never lived. "You are anxious, and out ofspirits," she said gently. "Is it my fault?"

"Your fault? oh, don't think that! I have my dull days and mybright days--and just now my barometer is down at dull." Hisvoice faltered, in spite of his efforts to control it; he gave upthe struggle, and took his hat to go. "Do you remember, Emily,what I once said to you in the garden at the school? I stillbelieve there is a time of fulfillment to come in our lives." Hesuddenly checked himself, as if there had been something more inhis mind to which he hesitated to give expression--and held outhis hand to bid her good-by.

"My memory of what you said in the garden is better than yours,"she reminded him. "You said 'Happen what may in the interval, Itrust the future.' Do you feel the same trust still?"

He sighed--drew her to him gently--and kissed her on theforehead. Was that his own reply? She was not calm enough to askhim the question: it remained in her thoughts for some time afterhe had gone.

. . . . . . . .

On the same day Emily was at Brighton.

Francine happened to be alone in the drawing-room. Her firstproceeding, when Emily was shown in, was to stop the servant.

"Have you taken my letter to the post?"

"Yes, miss."

"It doesn't matter." She dismissed the servant by a gesture, andburst into such effusive hospitality that she actually insistedon kissing Emily. "Do you know what I have been doing?" she said."I have been writing to Cecilia--directing to the care of herfather, at the House of Commons. I stupidly forgot that you wouldbe able to give me the right address in Switzerland. You don'tobject, I hope, to my making myself agreeable to our dear,beautiful, greedy girl? It is of such importance to me tosurround myself with influential friends--and, of course, I havegiven her your love. Don't look disgusted! Come, and see yourroom.--Oh, never mind Miss Ladd. You will see her when she wakes.Ill? Is that sort of old woman ever ill? She's only taking hernap after bathing. Bathing in the sea, at her age! How she mustfrighten the fishes!"

Having seen her own bed-chamber, Emily was next introduced to theroom occupied by Francine.

One object that she noticed in it caused her some littlesurprise--not unmingled with disgust. She discovered on thetoilet-table a coarsely caricatured portrait of Mrs. Ellmother.It was a sketch in pencil--wretchedly drawn; but spitefullysuccessful as a likeness. "I didn't know you were an artist,"Emily remarked, with an ironical emphasis on the last word.Francine laughed scornfully--crumpled the drawing up in herhand--and threw it into the waste-paper basket.

"You satirical creature!" she burst out gayly. "If you had liveda dull life at St. Domingo, you would have taken to spoilingpaper too. I might really have turned out an artist, if I hadbeen clever and industrious like you. As it was, I learned alittle drawing--and got tired of it. I tried modeling in wax--andgot tired of it. Who do you think was my teacher? One of ourslaves."

"A slave!" Emily exclaimed.

"Yes--a mulatto, if you wish me to be particular; the daughter ofan English father and a negro mother. In her young time (at leastshe said so herself) she was quite a beauty, in her particularstyle. Her master's favorite; he educated her himself. Besidesdrawing and painting, and modeling in wax, she could sing andplay--all the accomplishments thrown away on a slave! When herowner died, my uncle bought her at the sale of the property."

A word of natural compassion escaped Emily--to Francine'ssurprise.

"Oh, my dear, you needn't pity her! Sappho (that was her name)fetched a high price, even when she was no longer young. She cameto us, by inheritance, with the estates and the rest of it; andtook a fancy to me, when she found out I didn't get on well withmy father and mother. 'I owe it to _my_ father and mother,' sheused to say, 'that I am a slave. When I see affectionatedaughters, it wrings my heart.' Sappho was a strange compound. Awoman with a white side to her character, and a black side. Forweeks together, she would be a civilized being. Then she used torelapse, and become as complete a negress as her mother. At therisk of her life she stole away, on those occasions, into theinterior of the island, and looked on, in hiding, at the horridwitchcrafts and idolatries of the blacks; they would havemurdered a half-blood, prying into their ceremonies, if they haddiscovered her. I followed her once, so far as I dared. Thefrightful yellings and drummings in the darkness of the forestsfrightened me. The blacks suspected her, and it came to my ears.I gave her the warning that saved her life (I don't know what Ishould have done without Sappho to amuse me!); and, from thattime, I do believe the curious creature loved me. You see I canspeak generously even of a slave!"

"I wonder you didn't bring her with you to England," Emily said.

"In the first place," Francine answered, "she was my father'sproperty, not mine. In the second place, she's dead. Poisoned, asthe other half-bloods supposed, by some enemy among the blacks.She said herself, she was under a spell!"

"What did she mean?"

Francine was not interested enough in the subject to explain."Stupid superstition, my dear. The negro side of Sappho wasuppermost when she was dying--there is the explanation. Be offwith you! I hear the old woman on the stairs. Meet her before shecan come in here. My bedroom is my only refuge from Miss Ladd."

On the morning of the last day in the week, Emily had a littletalk in private with her old schoolmistress. Miss Ladd listenedto what she had to say of Mrs. Ellmother, and did her best torelieve Emily's anxieties. "I think you are mistaken, my child,in supposing that Francine is in earnest. It is her great faultthat she is hardly ever in earnest. You can trust to mydiscretion; leave the rest to your aunt's old servant and to me."

Mrs. Ellmother arrived, punctual to the appointed time. She wasshown into Miss Ladd's own room. Francine--ostentatiouslyresolved to take no personal part in the affair--went for a walk.Emily waited to hear the result.

After a long interval, Miss Ladd returned to the drawing-room,and announced that she had sanctioned the engagement of Mrs.Ellmother.

"I have considered your wishes, in this respect," she said. "Itis arranged that a week's notice, on either side, shall end theterm of service, after the first month. I cannot feel justifiedin doing more than that. Mrs. Ellmother is such a respectablewoman; she is so well known to you, and she was so long in youraunt's service, that I am bound to consider the importance ofsecuring a person who is exactly fitted to attend on such a girlas Francine. In one word, I can trust Mrs. Ellmother."

"When does she enter on her service?" Emily inquired.

"On the day after we return to the school," Miss Ladd replied."You will be glad to see her, I am sure. I will send her here."

"One word more before you go," Emily said.

"Did you ask her why she left my aunt?"

"My dear child, a woman who has been five-and-twenty years in oneplace is entitled to keep her own secrets. I understand that shehad her reasons, and that she doesn't think it necessary tomention them to anybody. Never trust people by halves--especiallywhen they are people like Mrs. Ellmother."

It was too late now to raise any objections. Emily felt relieved,rather than disappointed, on discovering that Mrs. Ellmother wasin a hurry to get back to London by the next train. Sh e hadfound an opportunity of letting her lodgings; and she was eagerto conclude the bargain. "You see I couldn't say Yes," sheexplained, "till I knew whether I was to get this new place ornot--and the person wants to go in tonight."

Emily stopped her at the door. "Promise to write and tell me howyou get on with Miss de Sor."

"You say that, miss, as if you didn't feel hopeful about me."

"I say it, because I feel interested about you. Promise towrite."

Mrs. Ellmother promised, and hastened away. Emily looked afterher from the window, as long as she was in view. "I wish I couldfeel sure of Francine!" she said to herself.

"In what way?" asked the hard voice of Francine, speaking at thedoor.

It was not in Emily's nature to shrink from a plain reply. Shecompleted her half-formed thought without a moment's hesitation.

"I wish I could feel sure," she answered, "that you will be kindto Mrs. Ellmother."

"Are you afraid I shall make her life one scene of torment?"Francine inquired. "How can I answer for myself? I can't lookinto the future."

"For once in your life, can you be in earnest?" Emily said.

"For once in your life, can you take a joke?" Francine replied.

Emily said no more. She privately resolved to shorten her visitto Brighton.