The day after the political meeting was a day of departures, atthe pleasant country house.

Miss Darnaway was recalled to the nursery at home. The old squirewho did justice to Mr. Wyvil's port-wine went away next, havingguests to entertain at his own house. A far more serious lossfollowed. The three dancing men had engagements which drew themto new spheres of activity in other drawing-rooms. They said,with the same dreary grace of manner, "Very sorry to go"; theydrove to the railway, arrayed in the same perfect traveling suitsof neutral tint; and they had but one difference of opinion amongthem--each firmly believed that he was smoking the best cigar tobe got in London.

The morning after these departures would have been a dull morningindeed, but for the presence of Mirabel.

When breakfast was over, the invalid Miss Julia establishedherself on the sofa with a novel. Her father retired to the otherend of the house, and profaned the art of music on music's mostexpressive instrument. Left with Emily, Cecilia, and Francine,Mirabel made one of his happy suggestions. "We are thrown on ourown resources," he said. "Let us distinguish ourselves byinventing some entirely new amusement for the day. You youngladies shall sit in council--and I will be secretary." He turnedto Cecilia. "The meeting waits to hear the mistress of thehouse."

Modest Cecilia appealed to her school friends for help;addressing herself in the first instance (by the secretary'sadvice) to Francine, as the eldest. They all noticed anotherchange in this variable young person. She was silent and subdued;and she said wearily, "I don't care what we do--shall we go outriding?"

The unanswerable objection to riding as a form of amusement, wasthat it had been more than once tried already. Something cleverand surprising was anticipated from Emily when it came to herturn. She, too, disappointed expectation. "Let us sit under thetrees," was all that she could suggest, "and ask Mr. Mirabel totell us a story."

Mirabel laid down his pen and took it on himself to reject thisproposal. "Remember," he remonstrated, "that I have an interestin the diversions of the day. You can't expect me to be amused bymy own story. I appeal to Miss Wyvil to invent a pleasure whichwill include the secretary."

Cecilia blushed and looked uneasy. "I think I have got an idea,"she announced, after some hesitation. "May I propose that we allgo to the keeper's lodge?" There her courage failed her, and shehesitated again.

Mirabel gravely registered the proposal, as far as it went. "Whatare we to do when we get to the keeper's lodge?" he inquired.

"We are to ask the keeper's wife," Cecilia proceeded, "to lend usher kitchen."

"To lend us her kitchen," Mirabel repeated.

"And what are we to do in the kitchen?"

Cecilia looked down at her pretty hands crossed on her lap, andanswered softly, "Cook our own luncheon."

Here was an entirely new amusement, in the most attractive senseof the words! Here was charming Cecilia's interest in thepleasures of the table so happily inspired, that the gratefulmeeting offered its tribute of applause--even including Francine.The members of the council were young; their daring digestionscontemplated without fear the prospect of eating their ownamateur cookery. The one question that troubled them now was whatthey were to cook.

"I can make an omelet," Cecilia ventured to say.

"If there is any cold chicken to be had," Emily added, "Iundertake to follow the omelet with a mayonnaise."

"There are clergymen in the Church of England who are even cleverenough to fry potatoes," Mirabel announced--"and I am one ofthem. What shall we have next? A pudding? Miss de Sor, can youmake a pudding?"

Francine exhibited another new side to her character--a diffidentand humble side. "I am ashamed to say I don't know how to cookanything," she confessed; "you had better leave me out of it."

But Cecilia was now in her element. Her plan of operations waswide enough even to include Francine. "You shall wash thelettuce, my dear, and stone the olives for Emily's mayonnaise.Don't be discouraged! You shall have a companion; we will send tothe rectory for Miss Plym--the very person to chop parsley andshallot for my omelet. Oh, Emily, what a morning we are going tohave!" Her lovely blue eyes sparkled with joy; she gave Emily akiss which Mirabel must have been more or less than man not tohave coveted. "I declare," cried Cecilia, completely losing herhead, "I'm so excited, I don't know what to do with myself!"

Emily's intimate knowledge of her friend applied the rightremedy. "You don't know what to do with yourself?" she repeated."Have you no sense of duty? Give the cook your orders."

Cecilia instantly recovered her presence of mind. She sat down atthe writing-table, and made out a list of eatable productions inthe animal and vegetable world, in which every other word wasunderlined two or three times over. Her serious face was a sightto see, when she rang for the cook, and the two held a privycouncil in a corner.

On the way to the keeper's lodge, the young mistress of the househeaded a procession of servants carrying the raw materials.Francine followed, held in custody by Miss Plym--who took herresponsibilities seriously, and clamored for instruction in theart of chopping parsley. Mirabel and Emily were together, farbehind; they were the only two members of the company whose mindswere not occupied in one way or another by the kitchen.

"This child's play of ours doesn't seem to interest you," Mirabelremarked

"I am thinking," Emily answered, "of what you said to me aboutFrancine."

"I can say something more," he rejoined. "When I noticed thechange in her at dinner, I told you she meant mischief. There isanother change to-day, which suggests to my mind that themischief is done."

"And directed against me?" Emily asked.

Mirabel made no direct reply. It was impossible for _him_ toremind her that she had, no matter how innocently, exposedherself to the jealous hatred of Francine. "Time will tell us,what we don't know now," he replied evasively.

"You seem to have faith in time, Mr. Mirabel."

"The greatest faith. Time is the inveterate enemy of deceit.Sooner or later, every hidden thing is a thing doomed todiscovery."

"Without exception?"

"Yes," he answered positively, "without exception."

At that moment Francine stopped and looked back at them. Did shethink that Emily and Mirabel had been talking together longenough? Miss Plym--with the parsley still on her mind---advancedto consult Emil y's experience. The two walked on together,leaving Mirabel to overtake Francine. He saw, in her first lookat him, the effort that it cost her to suppress those emotionswhich the pride of women is most deeply interested in concealing.Before a word had passed, he regretted that Emily had left themtogether.

"I wish I had your cheerful disposition," she began, abruptly. "Iam out of spirits or out of temper--I don't know which; and Idon't know why. Do you ever trouble yourself with thinking of thefuture?"

"As seldom as possible, Miss de Sor. In such a situation as mine,most people have prospects--I have none."

He spoke gravely, conscious of not feeling at ease on his side.If he had been the most modest man that ever lived, he must haveseen in Francine's face that she loved him.

When they had first been presented to each other, she was stillunder the influence of the meanest instincts in her scheming andselfish nature. She had thought to herself, "With my money tohelp him, that man's celebrity would do the rest; the bestsociety in England would be glad to receive Mirabel's wife. "Asthe days passed, strong feeling had taken the place of thosecontemptible aspirations: Mirabel had unconsciously inspired theone passion which was powerful enough to master Francine--sensualpassion. Wild hopes rioted in her. Measureless desires which shehad never felt before, united themselves with capacities forwickedness, which had been the horrid growth of a fewnights--capacities which suggested even viler attempts to ridherself of a supposed rivalry than slandering Emily by means ofan anonymous letter. Without waiting for it to be offered, shetook Mirabel's arm, and pressed it to her breast as they slowlywalked on. The fear of discovery which had troubled her after shehad sent her base letter to the post, vanished at thatinspiriting moment. She bent her head near enough to him when hespoke to feel his breath on her face.

"There is a strange similarity," she said softly, "between yourposition and mine. Is there anything cheering in _my_ prospects?I am far away from home--my father and mother wouldn't care ifthey never saw me again. People talk about my money! What is theuse of money to such a lonely wretch as I am? Suppose I write toLondon, and ask the lawyer if I may give it all away to somedeserving person? Why not to you?"

"My dear Miss de Sor--!"

"Is there anything wrong, Mr. Mirabel, in wishing that I couldmake you a prosperous man?"

"You must not even talk of such a thing!"

"How proud you are!" she said submissively.

"Oh, I can't bear to think of you in that miserable village--aposition so unworthy of your talents and your claims! And youtell me I must not talk about it. Would you have said that toEmily, if she was as anxious as I am to see you in your rightplace in the world?"

"I should have answered her exactly as I have answered you."

"She will never embarrass you, Mr. Mirabel, by being as sincereas I am. Emily can keep her own secrets."

"Is she to blame for doing that?"

"It depends on your feeling for her."

"What feeling do you mean?"

"Suppose you heard she was engaged to be married?" Francinesuggested.

Mirabel's manner--studiously cold and formal thus far--altered ona sudden. He looked with unconcealed anxiety at Francine. "Do yousay that seriously?" he asked.

"I said 'suppose.' I don't exactly know that she is engaged."

"What _do_ you know?"

"Oh, how interested you are in Emily! She is admired by somepeople. Are you one of them?"

Mirabel's experience of women warned him to try silence as ameans of provoking her into speaking plainly. The experimentsucceeded: Francine returned to the question that he had put toher, and abruptly answered it.

"You may believe me or not, as you like--I know of a man who isin love with her. He has had his opportunities; and he has madegood use of them. Would you like to know who he is?"

"I should like to know anything which you may wish to tell me."He did his best to make the reply in a tone of commonplacepoliteness--and he might have succeeded in deceiving a man. Thewoman's quicker ear told her that he was angry. Francine took thefull advantage of that change in her favor.

"I am afraid your good opinion of Emily will be shaken," shequietly resumed, "when I tell you that she has encouraged a manwho is only drawing-master at a school. At the same time, aperson in her circumstances--I mean she has no money--ought notto be very hard to please. Of course she has never spoken to youof Mr. Alban Morris?"

"Not that I remember."

Only four words--but they satisfied Francine.

The one thing wanting to complete the obstacle which she had nowplaced in Emily's way, was that Alban Morris should enter on thescene. He might hesitate; but, if he was really fond of Emily,the anonymous letter would sooner or later bring him toMonksmoor. In the meantime, her object was gained. She droppedMirabel's arm.

"Here is the lodge," she said gayly--"I declare Cecilia has gotan apron on already! Come, and cook."