Returning to her room to don her riding habit, directly after breakfast, Mildred met Miss Worth on her way to the library to keep her appointment with Mr. Dinsmore.

"How pale and ill you look!" exclaimed Mildred.

"Ah, you would not wonder if you knew how I shrink from this interview," sighed the governess.

"I think you need not," Mildred answered kindly; then gave her the substance of the conversation at the table, in regard to the past night's occurrences, adding that her uncle's explanation of her probable motives had entirely appeased Mrs. Dinsmore's anger, and presumably he did not himself hold her in great disfavor.

"How very good in you to tell me, Miss Keith," the governess said, grateful tears springing to her eyes. "But I must not delay another moment, lest I keep him waiting."

She hastened on into the library, and was relieved to find it tenantless. Unpunctuality would not have helped her cause, and though the moments of waiting tried her already over-strained nerves, she was thankful that they had fallen to her lot rather than to his.

She had slept little, waking early, not greatly refreshed, and tormented with anxiety in regard to her brother's whereabouts, likelihood to renew his attempt to carry off Juliet, and danger of arrest on the old charges. This in addition to the care that came upon her every day:—the ever recurring question how she was to meet necessary expenses for herself and those dependent upon her.

Almost too weary to stand, yet too restless to remain quiet, she dropped into a chair for a moment, then rose and paced the floor, at last pausing beside the fire, and standing there with her right elbow on the mantel, her forehead in the open palm of her hand, her eyes cast down, while painful thought surged through her brain.

Thus Mr. Dinsmore found her, so absorbed in her meditations that she was not aware of his entrance until he coughed slightly to attract her attention. Then she came out of her reverie with a start.

"Excuse me, sir, but I was not aware that I was no longer alone."

"Time enough," he said; "and let me compliment you on being more punctual than myself. But you are not looking well or happy."

"No, sir; and I think you will hardly wonder that I do not, when you have heard what I am here to tell."

"Be seated," he said, waving his hand toward an easy chair, while taking possession of its fellow, "and let me hear what it is."

She seemed at a loss where to begin her story, and to help her he remarked interrogatively, "I presume you have no objection to explaining the cause of your mysterious nocturnal ramble?"

"No," she said, "I went to warn that man away from the house."

"Ah! yes, that may have been the better plan, as I was absent from home; but what puzzles me is to understand how you knew of his coming."

"I had picked this up in the hall," she said, handing him the little note.

"But how could it tell you so much, since it gives neither the name of the writer nor that of the person addressed?"

"The man's writing is perfectly familiar to me," she explained, growing a shade paler as she spoke; "I have known him intimately for years, and had learned from him his designs upon Miss Marsden."

"An intimate acquaintance of yours!" he exclaimed in astonishment. "Not one to be proud of, certainly. May I ask a further explanation? It is a matter of some consequence to know with what style of persons the instructress of my children associates."

"I know it; you have a perfect right to ask," she stammered, a crimson blush suffusing her cheek, hot tears rushing into the downcast eyes. "Oh, may you never know, Mr. Dinsmore, what it is to have those nearest and dearest bring shame and disgrace upon you!"

"A relative?" he asked. "Is he not a foreigner?"

She shook her head sorrowfully, and after a moment's struggle for composure, told him what the man was to her, how he had been led astray by love for the wine-cup, and the evil influence of an older villain; that he had left his country years ago, traveling his family knew not whither, and how unexpectedly she had recognized him in the pseudo Count of whom Juliet had become enamored; how she had entreated him to go away, and failing to persuade him, had made a fruitless appeal to Juliet, disclosing his real character and aims; but only to be scouted at and contemned as an envious rival; then had sought for him with the purpose of calling in his aid to save the wilful girl from the destruction she courted, and failing to find him had enlisted Mildred in the cause.

"Miss Marsden is a born simpleton!" he commented impatiently. "Well, Miss Worth, she owes a great deal to your good sense and right feeling. I, too, am obliged to you. I sympathize with you in the trial of having such a brother, and do not see that you have been at all to blame in this unfortunate matter; but rather the contrary.

"However, Mrs. Dinsmore is not always entirely reasonable in her views and requirements, and it is altogether likely would object longer receiving your services as governess to her children, if she knew of your relationship to this man. We will, therefore, keep that matter to ourselves."

So saying, he dismissed her and the subject together, with a wave of his hand; and she withdrew with one burden somewhat lightened.

For some days nothing special occurred at Roselands; Juliet kept to her own apartments; for the most part alone, or with no companionship but that of her maid; for Reba's strongly expressed disgust and indignation at her folly had sent her into a fit of the pouts, so that they had small relish for each other's society; and Mrs. Dinsmore, angry with her for the disgrace she had so nearly brought upon the family, would not go near her, nor allow any of the children to do so.

Mildred, too, stayed away, partly in obedience to a hint from her aunt, and partly because she did not suppose her company would be acceptable; she and Juliet having never been kindred spirits.

Meanwhile, Miss Worth still took her meals in the nursery with the younger children, doing so of choice, attended faithfully to her duties in the schoolroom, but was seldom seen at other times. Her light often burned far into the night, and day by day she grew thinner and paler her cheeks more sunken, her eyes more hollow, her step slower and more languid.

Mildred alone seemed to note the change, but to her kind inquiries the governess always answered that she was well, and that in a tone that did not encourage further inquiry or remark.

Mr. Marsden was slow in responding to Mr. Dinsmore's summons, but at length a letter was received, announcing his intention of starting on his journey two days after date, and requesting Mr. Dinsmore to keep a vigilant watch over Juliet until his arrival.

It had come by the mail, which, arriving in the city the previous night, was brought to Roselands by Pomp, in the morning.

Mr. Dinsmore opened it at the breakfast table, read it to himself, and with a satisfied smile, passed it on to his wife for her perusal, while he opened the newspaper, and leisurely glanced over its contents.

"Ah!" he exclaimed presently, with some excitement, "here is a bit of news. Listen!"

He read it aloud.

"Yesterday, a gentleman from Philadelphia, visiting in our city, met in the street, and recognized an old acquaintance, one Henry Worth, formerly of Philadelphia, who, some five years ago, fled thence to escape trial on a charge of forgery. Worth was of respectable family; his father had been a man of very considerable wealth, but had failed shortly before the commission of the crime; brought to ruin, it is said, by the excesses of this son.

"The young man has been leading a gay life of late, in the assumed character of a French nobleman—calling himself the Count De Lisle. The gentleman above referred to promptly reported his case to the police; he was arrested and is now safely lodged in prison; whence he will be sent north in a few days for trial."

"So it's all true—that he was a scoundrel!" cried Mrs. Dinsmore, "and his name's Worth! He's Miss Worth's brother! I know it! I'm sure of it! and that accounts for her knowing all about him. The wicked, deceitful thing to hide it as she has done, and impose herself—the sister of a convict—on me as governess to my children! I never heard of anything so shameful! I'll give her notice at once, and—"

"Why, my dear, what absurd folly!" exclaimed Mr. Dinsmore impatiently, angry with her for her unreasonable displeasure, and with himself for having inadvertently read out the name; "what difference does it make?"

"What difference, Mr. Dinsmore! are you crazy? You may consider paupers and convicts proper associates for your children, but they are not for mine, and that woman shall go."

"She is neither a pauper nor a convict," he said, "nor in the least responsible, so far as I have been able to learn, for the wrong doing of this man, whom, by the way, you do not know to be her brother; and if he is, I should think a woman's heart would feel for her in the terrible sorrow and disgrace of having such a relative."

"Papa, what is a convict?" asked Lora.

"One legally proved guilty of a crime," he said; "and, my dear, the term does not yet apply to the man himself, (much less to your governess) as he has not yet been brought to trial."

"It's all the same," she sneered, "for I haven't a doubt of his guilt. There, you needn't smile, as if I had said a foolish thing!"

"I wish you would not do a foolish thing in sending away one so well qualified for her duties, and faithful in their performance, as Miss Worth, merely because she is so unfortunate as to bear the same name—possibly be nearly related to—a scamp."

"Dear me, papa, I think mamma is quite right," remarked Louise, with a toss of her head. "I'm sure I don't wish to be taught by such a person."

"When your opinion is desired, Louise, it will be called for," said her father severely. "In the meantime you may reserve it."

"Well, I mean to ask Miss Worth if that man is her brother?" muttered the child sullenly.

"You will do no such thing!" returned her father. "I will not have a word said to her about it."

At that his wife smiled significantly.

"It might be as well to show that paragraph to Juliet," she said, rising from the table. "Suppose you give me the paper."

"Do so, by all means," he replied, handing it to her.

"Mildred, here is something for Miss Worth. Will you see that she gets it?"

It, too, was a newspaper, and Mildred hoped compassionately, as she carried it up stairs, that it did not contain the item of distressing news for Miss Worth that her uncle had read from the other.

Mrs. Dinsmore had preceded her by several minutes, and her voice speaking in cold, cutting tones, came to the girl's ear, from the upper hall, as she set her foot upon the first stair.

"You must be aware that your services are no longer acceptable here," she was saying. "In fact you would never have been given the situation had I known of this disgraceful connection; and I must say I am justly indignant at the gross deception that has been practiced upon me."

"She must be speaking to Miss Worth; oh, what cruel words!" thought Mildred.

She had reached the landing, and turning to ascend the short flight above, caught sight of the speaker and the person addressed.

Miss Worth stood leaning against the wall, one hand clutching at the balustrade for support, her face deathly pale, and her lips trembling; Mrs. Dinsmore standing a few feet from her, gathering her dainty skirts close to her person as if fearful of contamination, her aristocratic nose high in the air, her countenance expressing scorn, contempt, and righteous indignation.

"What have you to say for yourself?" she demanded.

"Nothing, but that I am guiltless of any intentional wrong," the governess replied, lifting her head, and speaking in a tone of quiet despair, "and that I have faithfully performed my duties to the best of my ability."

"You don't deny, then, that this scoundrel, this felon—"

"Madame," interrupted the governess, her eyes flashing, while a bright red spot burned on each cheek, "he is not that, for he has never been convicted of, nor so much as brought to trial for any crime."

"Insolence!" exclaimed Mrs. Dinsmore. "Well, if he hasn't been yet, he soon will be, and get his deserts, I sincerely hope."

And picking up the newspaper, which seemed to have dropped from Miss Worth's nerveless hand, she swept on toward Juliet's apartments; in another moment had disappeared within them, shutting the door after her.

The fire had died out of Miss Worth's eye, the red had left her cheek, and she was swaying from side to side; only her hold on the balustrade keeping her from falling.

Mildred sprang toward her. "Lean on me," she said. "Let me help you to your room. Don't be so troubled; the Lord will take care of you and yours, if you put your trust in Him."

She did not know whether or not her words were heard and understood. The poor woman answered only with a heavy sigh and whispered, "Thank you. I shall be better soon. But oh, what will become of them all! my mother, my poor mother! He was her pride, her idol!"

Sympathetic tears streamed over Mildred's cheeks as she assisted her to her room.

"I'm to go away, Miss Mildred," she said, "turned off in disgrace for what is no fault of mine: no fault but my bitter, bitter sorrow! God help me and those dependent on me!"

"He will," Mildred answered chokingly; "He is so kind, so full of compassion; His tender mercies are over all his works!"

She stayed a little while trying to administer consolation, then putting the paper into Miss Worth's hands, merely saying that it had come by that morning's mail, she went away.

Finding Rachel busy in her room, she stepped back into the hall and stood for a few moments at the window there, looking out into the avenue below where Mr. Dinsmore was mounting his horse to make his daily morning round of the plantation.

Suddenly there was a sound in Miss Worth's room as of a heavy body falling to the floor.

Mildred ran to her door, and rushing in without the ceremony of knocking, found the poor governess stretched, apparently lifeless, upon the floor, the newspaper lying by her side.

Mildred's eye, as she stooped over the prostrate form, was caught by a paragraph that was heavily marked.

But the present was no time to examine it, and pushing the paper aside, she hastened to loosen the clothing of the fainting woman, at the same time giving directions to the two or three servants who had been attracted by the noise of the fall, and followed her into the room.

"Throw up that window, Minerva! Some cold water, Fanny, quick, quick! And you, Rachel, run to my room for my smelling salts."

"O, Miss Milly, is she done gone dead?" asked Fanny fearfully, as she sprinkled the water upon the still, white face.

"No, no; it's only a bad faint," Mildred answered, but her own heart quaked with fear as she spoke; the pinched features were so deathlike in their fixedness and pallor.

And spite of every effort they remained so till, nearly wild with terror, Mildred bade the servants summon other assistance.

"Call Mrs. Brown," she said. "Ask aunt if we shall not send for the doctor."

They hurried away to do her bidding, while she renewed her exertions, sending up silent, importunate petitions the while to her heavenly Friend.

They were answered; Miss Worth sighed deeply, opened her eyes and lifted them to the young face bent over her, with a look of such hopeless, heart-breaking anguish, that the girl burst into sobs and tears.

"Oh, what is it? what is it?" she said.

"He—he was my husband—and—and I loved him," came in a hoarse whisper from the colorless lips, and with the last word she swooned again.

"She has lost her reason," thought Mildred. "Poor, poor thing! oh, perhaps it may be better for her if she never comes to herself again."