On the Monday, a plowboy from Vale Regis arrived at Monksmoor.

In respect of himself, he was a person beneath notice. In respectof his errand, he was sufficiently important to cast a gloom overthe household. The faithless Mirabel had broken his engagement,and the plowboy was the herald of misfortune who brought hisapology. To his great disappointment (he wrote) he was detainedby the affairs of his parish. He could only trust to Mr. Wyvil'sindulgence to excuse him, and to communicate his sincere sense ofregret (on scented note paper) to the ladies.

Everybody believed in the affairs of the parish--with theexception of Francine. "Mr. Mirabel has made the best excuse hecould think of for shortening his visit; and I don't wonder atit," she said, looking significantly at Emily.

Emily was playing with one of the dogs; exercising him in thetricks which he had learned. She balanced a morsel of sugar onhis nose--and had no attention to spare for Francine.

Cecilia, as the mistress of the house, felt it her duty tointerfere. "That is a strange remark to make," she answered. "Doyou mean to say that we have driven Mr. Mirabel away from us?"

"I accuse nobody," Francine began with spiteful candor.

"Now she's going to accuse everybody!" Emily interposed,addressing herself facetiously to the dog.

"But when girls are bent on fascinating men, whether they like itor not," Francine proceeded, "men have only one alternative--theymust keep out of the way." She looked again at Emily, morepointedly than ever.

Even gentle Cecilia resented this. "Whom do you refer to?" shesaid sharply.

"My dear!" Emily remonstrated, "need you ask?" She glanced atFrancine as she spoke, and then gave the dog his signal. Hetossed up the sugar, and caught it in his mouth. His audienceapplauded him--and so, for that time, the skirmish ended.

Among the letters of the next morning's delivery, arrived Alban'sreply. Emily's anticipations proved to be correct. Thedrawing-master's du ties would not permit him to leaveNetherwoods; and he, like Mirabel, sent his apologies. His shortletter to Emily contained no further allusion to Miss Jethro; itbegan and ended on the first page.

Had he been disappointed by the tone of reserve in which Emilyhad written to him, under Mr. Wyvil's advice? Or (as Ceciliasuggested) had his detention at the school so bitterlydisappointed him that he was too disheartened to write at anylength? Emily made no attempt to arrive at a conclusion, eitherone way or the other. She seemed to be in depressed spirits; andshe spoke superstitiously, for the first time in Cecilia'sexperience of her.

"I don't like this reappearance of Miss Jethro," she said. "Ifthe mystery about that woman is ever cleared up, it will bringtrouble and sorrow to me--and I believe, in his own secret heart,Alban Morris thinks so too."

"Write, and ask him," Cecilia suggested.

"He is so kind and so unwilling to distress me," Emily answered,"that he wouldn't acknowledge it, even if I am right."

In the middle of the week, the course of private life atMonksmoor suffered an interruption--due to the parliamentaryposition of the master of the house.

The insatiable appetite for making and hearing speeches, whichrepresents one of the marked peculiarities of the English race(including their cousins in the United States), had seized on Mr.Wyvil's constituents. There was to be a political meeting at themarket hall, in the neighboring town; and the member was expectedto make an oration, passing in review contemporary events at homeand abroad. "Pray don't think of accompanying me," the good mansaid to his guests. "The hall is badly ventilated, and thespeeches, including my own, will not be worth hearing."

This humane warning was ungratefully disregarded. The gentlemenwere all interested in "the objects of the meeting"; and theladies were firm in the resolution not to be left at home bythemselves. They dressed with a view to the large assembly ofspectators before whom they were about to appear; and theyouttalked the men on political subjects, all the way to the town.

The most delightful of surprises was in store for them, when theyreached the market hall. Among the crowd of ordinary gentlemen,waiting under the portico until the proceedings began, appearedone person of distinction, whose title was "Reverend," and whosename was Mirabel.

Francine was the first to discover him. She darted up the stepsand held out her hand.

"This _is_ a pleasure!" she cried. "Have you come here to see--"she was about to say Me, but, observing the strangers round her,altered the word to Us. "Please give me your arm," she whispered,before her young friends had arrived within hearing. "I am sofrightened in a crowd!"

She held fast by Mirabel, and kept a jealous watch on him. Was itonly her fancy? or did she detect a new charm in his smile whenhe spoke to Emily?

Before it was possible to decide, the time for the meeting hadarrived. Mr. Wyvil's friends were of course accommodated withseats on the platform. Francine, still insisting on her claim toMirabel's arm, got a chair next to him. As she seated herself,she left him free for a moment. In that moment, the infatuatedman took an empty chair on the other side of him, and placed itfor Emily. He communicated to that hated rival the informationwhich he ought to have reserved for Francine. "The committeeinsist," he said, "on my proposing one of the Resolutions. Ipromise not to bore you; mine shall be the shortest speechdelivered at the meeting."

The proceedings began.

Among the earlier speakers not one was inspired by a feeling ofmercy for the audience. The chairman reveled in words. The moverand seconder of the first Resolution (not having so much as theghost of an idea to trouble either of them), poured out languagein flowing and overflowing streams, like water from a perpetualspring. The heat exhaled by the crowded audience was alreadybecoming insufferable. Cries of "Sit down!" assailed the oratorof the moment. The chairman was obliged to interfere. A man atthe back of the hall roared out, "Ventilation!" and broke awindow with his stick. He was rewarded with three rounds ofcheers; and was ironically invited to mount the platform and takethe chair.

Under these embarrassing circumstances, Mirabel rose to speak.

He secured silence, at the outset, by a humorous allusion to theprolix speaker who had preceded him. "Look at the clock,gentlemen," he said; "and limit my speech to an interval of tenminutes." The applause which followed was heard, through thebroken window, in the street. The boys among the mob outsideintercepted the flow of air by climbing on each other's shouldersand looking in at the meeting, through the gaps left by theshattered glass. Having proposed his Resolution with discreetbrevity of speech, Mirabel courted popularity on the plan adoptedby the late Lord Palmerston in the House of Commons--he toldstories, and made jokes, adapted to the intelligence of thedullest people who were listening to him. The charm of his voiceand manner completed his success. Punctually at the tenth minute,he sat down amid cries of "Go on." Francine was the first to takehis hand, and to express admiration mutely by pressing it. Hereturned the pressure--but he looked at the wrong lady--the ladyon the other side.

Although she made no complaint, he instantly saw that Emily wasovercome by the heat. Her lips were white, and her eyes wereclosing. "Let me take you out," he said, "or you will faint."

Francine started to her feet to follow them. The lower order ofthe audience, eager for amusement, put their own humorousconstruction on the young lady's action. They roared withlaughter. "Let the parson and his sweetheart be," they calledout; "two's company, miss, and three isn't." Mr. Wyvil interposedhis authority and rebuked them. A lady seated behind Francineinterfered to good purpose by giving her a chair, which placedher out of sight of the audience. Order was restored--and theproceedings were resumed.

On the conclusion of the meeting, Mirabel and Emily were foundwaiting for their friends at the door. Mr. Wyvil innocently addedfuel to the fire that was burning in Francine. He insisted thatMirabel should return to Monksmoor, and offered him a seat in thecarriage at Emily's side.

Later in the evening, when they all met at dinner, there appeareda change in Miss de Sor which surprised everybody but Mirabel.She was gay and good-humored, and especially amiable andattentive to Emily--who sat opposite to her at the table. "Whatdid you and Mr. Mirabel talk about while you were away from us?"she asked innocently. "Politics?"

Emily readily adopted Francine's friendly tone. "Would you havetalked politics, in my place?" she asked gayly.

"In your place, I should have had the most delightful ofcompanions," Francine rejoined; "I wish I had been overcome bythe heat too!"

Mirabel--attentively observing her--acknowledged the complimentby a bow, and left Emily to continue the conversation. In perfectgood faith she owned to having led Mirabel to talk of himself.She had heard from Cecilia that his early life had been devotedto various occupations, and she was interested in knowing howcircumstances had led him into devoting himself to the Church.Francine listened with the outward appearance of implicit belief,and with the inward conviction that Emily was deliberatelydeceiving her. When the little narrative was at an end, she wasmore agreeable than ever. She admired Emily's dress, and sherivaled Cecilia in enjoyment of the good things on the table; sheentertained Mirabel with humorous anecdotes of the priests at St.Domingo, and was so interested in the manufacture of violins,ancient and modern, that Mr. Wyvil promised to show her hisfamous collection of instruments, after dinner. Her overflowingamiability included even poor Miss Darnaway and the absentbrothers and sisters. She heard with flattering sympathy, howthey had been ill and had got well again; what amusing tricksthey played, what alarming accidents happened to them, a nd howremarkably clever they were--"including, I do assure you, dearMiss de Sor, the baby only ten months old." When the ladies roseto retire, Francine was, socially speaking, the heroine of theevening.

While the violins were in course of exhibition, Mirabel found anopportunity of speaking to Emily, unobserved.

"Have you said, or done, anything to offend Miss de Sor?" heasked.

"Nothing whatever!" Emily declared, startled by the question."What makes you think I have offended her?"

"I have been trying to find a reason for the change in her,"Mirabel answered--"especially the change toward yourself."

"Well?"

"Well--she means mischief."

"Mischief of what sort?"

"Of a sort which may expose her to discovery--unless she disarmssuspicion at the outset. That is (as I believe) exactly what shehas been doing this evening. I needn't warn you to be on yourguard."

All the next day Emily was on the watch for events--and nothinghappened. Not the slightest appearance of jealousy betrayeditself in Francine. She made no attempt to attract to herself theattentions of Mirabel; and she showed no hostility to Emily,either by word, look, or manner.

. . . . . . . .

The day after, an event occurred at Netherwoods. Alban Morrisreceived an anonymous letter, addressed to him in these terms:

"A certain young lady, in whom you are supposed to be interested,is forgetting you in your absence. If you are not mean enough toallow yourself to be supplanted by another man, join the party atMonksmoor before it is too late."