"I don't know how it is," grumbled the General, "but Enid looks scarcely any better than she did before this precious engagement of hers. You made me think that she would be perfectly happy if she had her own way; but I must say, Flossy, that I see no improvement."

Flossy, lying on a sofa and holding a fan over her eyes, as though to shut out the sight of her husband's bowed shoulders and venerable white head, answered languidly—

"You forget that you did only half of what you were expected to do. You would not consent to a definite engagement until she should be eighteen years old; she is eighteen now, and yet you are holding back. Suspense of such a sort is very trying to a girl."

The General, who had been standing beside her, sat down in a large arm-chair and looked very vexed.

"I don't care," he said obstinately—"I'm not going to have my little girl disposed of in such a hurry! She shall not be engaged to anybody just yet; and until she is twenty or twenty-one she sha'nt be married. Why, she's had no girlhood at all! She's only just out of the schoolroom now. Eighteen is nothing!"

"Waiting and uncertainty are bad for a girl's spirits," said Mrs. Vane. "You can do as you please, of course, about her engagement; but you must not expect her to look delighted over the delay."

The General put his hands on his knees and leaned forward mysteriously.

"Flossy," he said, "I don't wish to make you anxious, dear; but do you think Hubert really cares for her?"

Flossy lowered her fan; there was a touch of angry color in her face.

"What are you going to say next, General? Why should Hubert have asked Enid to marry him if he were not in love with her? He had, no doubt, plenty of opportunities of asking other people.""Yes—yes; but Enid is very sweet and very lovely, my dear. You don't often see a more beautiful girl. I should not like her to marry a man who was not attached to her."

Flossy controlled her anger, and spoke in a careless tone.

"What makes you take such fancies into your head, dear?"

"Well—more than one thing. To begin with, I found Enid wandering up and down the conservatory just now, looking as pale as a ghost, with tears in her eyes. I railed her a little, and asked her to tell me what was the matter; but she would not say. And then I asked if it had anything to do with Hubert, and whether she had heard from him lately; and, do you know, Flossy, she has had no letter from him for a fortnight! Now, in my day, although postage was dearer than it is now, we wouldn't have waited a fortnight before writing to the woman that we loved."

"Hubert is a very busy man; he has not time for the writing of love-letters," said Flossy slightly.

"He ought not to be too busy to make her happy."

"You forget too," said Mrs. Vane, "that Hubert has no private fortune. He is working harder than ever just now—toiling with all his might and main to gain a competency—not for his own, but for Enid's sake. Poor boy, he is often harassed on all sides!" She drew a little sigh as if she were sorrowing for him.

"I'm sure Enid does not harass him," said the General, getting up and pacing about the room in a hurry; "she is sweetness itself! And, as to money, why did he propose to her if he hadn't enough to keep her on? Of course Enid will have a nice little fortune—he needn't doubt that; but I shall tie it up pretty tightly when she marries, and settle it all upon herself. You may tell him that from me if you like, with my compliments!" The General was excited—he was hot and breathing hard. "He must have an income to put against—that's all; he's not going to live on his wife's fortune."

"Poor Hubert—I don't suppose he ever thought of such a thing!" said Flossy, affecting to laugh at her husband's vehemence, but weighing every word she uttered with scrupulous care. "Indeed, if he had known that she would have money, I don't suppose he would even have asked her to marry him. He believed her to be all but penniless."

"And what right had he to believe that?" shouted the General, looking more apoplectic than ever.

At which Flossy softly sighed, and said, "My nerves, dear!" closed her eyes, and held a vinaigrette to her nose.

The General was quieted at once.

"I beg your pardon, my dear—I forgot that I must not talk so loudly in your room," he said apologetically. "But my feelings get the better of me when I think of my poor little Enid looking so white and mournful. And so Hubert's working hard for her, is he? Poor lad! Of course I shall not forget him either in my will—you can tell him so if you like—and Enid's future is assured; but he must not neglect her—mustn't let her shed tears and make those pretty blue eyes of hers dim, you know—you must tell him that."

"The General grows more and more foolish every day," said Flossy to herself, with disgust—"a garrulous old dotard!" But she spoke very sweetly.

"I will talk to him if you like, dear; but I do not think that he means to hurt or neglect poor Enid. He is coming down to-morrow to spend Easter with us; that will please her, will it not? I have been keeping it a secret from her; I wanted to give her a surprise. It will bring the color back to her pale cheeks—will it not, you kind, sympathetic old dear!"

Flossy's white hand was laid caressingly on the General's arm. The old soldier rose to the bait. He raised it at once to his mouth, and kissed it as devoutly as ever he had saluted the hand of his Queen.

"My dear," he said, "you are always right; you are a wonderful woman—so clever, so beautiful, so good!" Did she not shiver as she heard the words? "I will leave it in your hands—you know how to manage every one!"

"Dear Richard," said Flossy, with a faint smile, "all that I do is for your sake."

And with these words she dismissed him radiantly happy.

Left to her own meditations, the expression of her face changed at once; it grew stern, hard, and cold; there was an unyielding look about the lines of her features which reminded one of the fixity of a mask or a marble statue. She lay perfectly motionless for a time, her eyes fixed on the wall before her; then she put out her hand and touched a bell at her side.

Almost immediately the door opened to admit her maid—a thin, upright woman with dark eyes, and curly dark hair, disposed so as to hide the tell-tale wrinkles on her brow and the crow's-feet at the corners of her eyes. She wore pink bows and a smart little cap and apron of youthful style; but it would have been evident to the eye of a keen observer that she was no longer young. She closed the door behind her and came to her mistress' side.

Florence paused for a minute or two, then spoke in a voice of so harsh and metallic a quality that her husband would scarcely have recognised it as hers.

"You have been neglecting your duty. You have not made any report to me for nearly a week."

"You have not asked me for one, ma'am."

"I do not expect to have to ask you. You are to come to me whenever there is anything to say."

The woman stood silent; but there was a protest in her very bearing, in the pose of her hands, the expression of her mouth and eyebrows. Flossy looked at her once, then turned her head away and said—

"Go on."

"There is nothing of importance to tell you, ma'am."

"How do you know what is important and what is not? For instance, Miss Enid was found by the General crying in the conservatory this morning. I want to know why she cried."

The maid—whose name was Parker—sniffed significantly as she replied—

"It's not easy to tell why young ladies cry, ma'am. The wind's in the east—perhaps that has something to do with it."

"Oh, very well!" said Mrs. Vane coldly. "If the wind is in the east, and that is all, Parker, you had better find some position in the world in which your talents will be of more use to you than they are to me. I will give you a month's pay instead of the usual notice, and you can leave Beechfield to-night."

The maid's face turned a little pale.

"I'm sure I beg pardon, ma'am," she said rather hurriedly; "I didn't mean that I had nothing to say. I—I've served you as well as I could, ma'am, ever since I came." There was something not unlike a tear in her beady black eyes.

"Have you?" said her mistress indifferently. "Then let me hear what you have been doing during the last few days. If your notes are not worth hearing"—she made a long pause, which Parker felt to be ominous, and then continued calmly—"there is a train to London to-night, and no doubt your mother will be glad to see you, character or no character."

"Oh, ma'am, you wouldn't go for to be so cruel, would you?" cried Parker the unwise, evidently on the verge of a flood of tears. "Without a character, ma'am, I'm sure I couldn't get a good place; and you know my mother has only what I earn to live upon. You wouldn't turn me off at a moment's notice for——"

"You are wasting a great deal of time," said Flossy coldly. "Say what you have to say, and I will be the judge as to whether you have or have not obeyed my orders. Where are your notes?"

Smothering a sob, Parker drew from her pocket a little black book, from which she proceeded to read aloud. But her voice was so thick, her articulation so indistinct by reason of her half-suppressed emotion, that presently, with an exclamation of impatience, Mrs. Vane turned and took the book straight out of her hands.

"You read abominably, Parker?" she said. "Where is it? Let me see. 'Sunday'—oh, yes, I know all about Sunday!—'Church, Sunday-school, church'—as usual. What's this? 'Mr. Evandale walked home with Miss E. from afternoon school.' I never heard of that! Where were you?"

"Walking behind them, ma'am."

"Could you hear anything? What do your notes say? H'm!" They walked very slow and spoke soft—could not hear a word. At the Park gates Mr. E. took her hand and held it while he talked. Miss E. seemed to be crying. The last thing he said was, "You know you may always trust me." Then he went down the road again, and Miss E. came home. Monday.—Miss E. very pale and down-like. Indoors all morning teaching Master D. Walked up to the village with him after his dinner; went to the schools; saw Mr. E. and walked along the lane with him. Mr. E. seemed more cheerful, and made her laugh several times. The rest of the day Miss E. spent indoors. Tuesday.—Miss E. teaching Master Dick till twelve. Riding with the master till two. Lunch and needlework till four. Mr. Evandale came to call. "Why was I never told that Mr. Evandale came to call?" said Flossy, starting up a little, and fixing her eyes, bright with a wrathful red gleam in their brown depths, upon the shrinking maid.

"I don't know, ma'am. I thought that you had been told."

Flossy sank back amongst her cushions, biting her lip; but she resumed her reading without further comment.

"'Stayed an hour, part of the time with Miss E. alone, then with the master. Little Master Dick in and out most of the time. Nothing special, as far as I could tell. Wednesday.—Miss E. walked with Master Dick to the village after lessons. Went into Miss Meldreth's shop to buy sweets, but did not stay more than a few minutes. Passed the Rectory gate; Mr. E. came running after them with a book. I was near enough to see Miss E. color up beautiful at the sight of him. They did not talk much together. In the afternoon Miss E. rode over to Whitminster with the General. After tea——' Yes, I see," said Mrs. Vane, suddenly stopping short—"there is nothing more of any importance."

She lay silent for a time, with her finger between the pages of the note-book. Parker waited, trembling, not daring to speak until she was spoken to.

"Take your book," said Mrs. Vane at last, "and be careful. No, you need, not go into ecstasies"—seeing from Parker's clasped hands that she was about to utter a word of gratitude. "I shall keep you no longer than you are useful to me—do you understand? Go on following Miss Vane; I want to know whom she sees, where she goes, what she does—if possible, what she talks about. Does she get letters—letters, I mean beside those that come in the post-bag?"

"I don't know, ma'am."

"Make it your business to know, then. You can go;" and Flossy turned away her face, so as not to see Parker's rather blundering exit."The woman is a fool," she said to herself contemptuously, when Parker had gone; "but I think she is—so far—a faithful fool. These women who have made a muddle of their lives are admirable tools; they are always so afraid of being found out;" and Flossy smiled cynically, although at the same moment she was conscious that she shared the peculiarity of the woman of whom she spoke—she also was afraid of being found out.

She had come across Parker before her marriage, when she was in Scotland. The woman had then been detected in theft and in an intrigue with one of the grooms, and had been ignominiously dismissed from service; but Flossy had chosen to seek her out and befriend her—not from any charitable motive, but because she saw in the discarded maid a person whom it might be useful to have at beck and call. Parker's bedridden mother was dependent upon her; and her one fear in life was that this mother should get to know her true story and be deprived of support. Upon this fear Mrs. Vane traded very skilfully; and, having installed Parker in the place of lady's-maid to herself and her husband's niece, she obtained accurate information concerning Enid's movements and actions, supplied from a source which Enid never even suspected.

Such knowledge was generally very useful to Flossy, but at present she was puzzled by certain items of news brought to her by Parker. "What does this constant meeting with Mr. Evandale mean?" she asked herself. Then her thoughts went back to the day of Mrs. Meldreth's death—a day which she never remembered without a shudder. She knew very well that the poor old woman had bitterly repented of her share in a deed to which her daughter Sabina and Mrs. Vane had urged her; it had been as much as Mrs. Vane and Sabina, by their united efforts, could do to make her hold her tongue. No fear of the General's vengeance, of Sabina's disgrace, of punishment of any kind, would have ensured her silence very much longer. The old woman had said again and again that she could not bear—in her own words—"to see Miss Enid kep' out of her own." She used to come to Flossy's boudoir and sit there, crying and entreating that she might be allowed to tell the General the truth. She did not seem to care when she was reminded that she herself would probably be punished, and that Sabina and Mrs. Vane had nothing but ruin before them if the truth were known. She had the fear of death on her soul—the fear that her sin would bring her eternal misery.

"You are a wickedly selfish woman!" Flossy once said to her, with as near an approach to passion as her temperament would allow. "You think of nothing but your own salvation. Our ruin, body and soul, does not matter to you."

And indeed this was true. The terrors of the law had gotten hold of Mrs. Meldreth's conscience. The avenging sword, carried by a religion in which she believed, had pierced her heart. She would have given everything she had in the world to be able to follow the advice given in her Prayer-book, to go to a "discreet and learned minister of God's Word"—Mr. Evandale, for instance—and quiet her conscience by opening her grief to him. But both Sabina and Mrs. Vane were prepared to go to almost any length before they would give her the chance of doing this.

Mrs. Vane was of course the leading spirit of the three. Where Sabina only raved and stormed, Mrs. Vane mocked and persuaded. She argued, threatened, coaxed, bribed, in turns; she gave Mrs. Meldreth as much money as she could spare, and promised more for the future; but the poor woman—at first open to persuasion—grew more and more difficult to restrain, and became at last almost imbecile from the pressure of her secret upon her mind. Flossy had begun seriously to consider the expediency of inducing Sabina to consign her mother to a lunatic asylum, or even to employ violent means for the shortening of her days on earth—there was nothing at which her soul would have revolted if her own prosperity could have been secured by it; but Mrs. Meldreth's natural illness and death removed all necessity for extreme measures.

Nothing indeed would have been more fortunate for Flossy and her accomplice than Mrs. Meldreth's death, had it not been for the circumstance that the dying woman had seen both Enid Vane and Mr. Evandale during her last moments. Flossy wondered angrily why Sabina had been so foolish as to admit them. She had heard nothing from Enid, who had kept her room for a couple of days after her return from Mrs. Meldreth's death-bed; but she was certain that something was now known to the girl which had not been known before. Flossy had tried to question her, to reprove her even for going into the houses of the sick poor; but there had been a look in the girl's eyes, a frozen defiance and horror in her face, which made Mrs. Vane shrink back aghast. Though silent and not very demonstrative in manner, Enid had hitherto never shown any dislike to Flossy, and had been as scrupulously attentive to her wishes as if she were still a child; but these days of passive obedience were past. Enid now quietly did what she chose. She seldom spoke to Florence at all; and on several occasions she had maintained her own purpose and choice with a calmness and steadfastness which had almost terrified Mrs. Vane. Who would have thought that Enid had a character? The girl had emancipated herself from all control, without words, without open rebellion; she had looked Flossy straight in the face once or twice, and Flossy had been compelled to yield.

Yes, Enid knew something—she was sure of that; how much she could not tell. She had never questioned Sabina Meldreth in person about the scene at her mother's death-bed—on principle, Flossy spared herself all painful and exciting interviews; but she had had a few lines from Sabina—sent to Beechfield Hall on the day of her mother's funeral.

"Miss Vane knows something—I don't know how much," Sabina had written. "The parson wanted to know, but couldn't get to hear. Maybe Miss Vane has told him. If she has, the parish won't hold you nor me."

"Abominably brusque and rude!" Flossy said to herself, as she drew the scrap of paper from its hiding-place. "But one cannot mould clay without soiling one's fingers, I suppose. It is months since Mrs. Meldreth died; and evidently Enid knows less than I supposed, or has made up her mind to keep the secret. But what do these meetings with Mr. Evandale mean? Is she confiding her troubles to him then? The little fool! I must see Sabina Meldreth, and Hubert too. What a good thing I had written to him to come—though not for the sake of pleasing Miss Enid, as the General fondly supposes! I must send for Sabina."But the wish seemed to have brought about its own fulfilment. At that very moment Parker knocked at her mistress' door.

"Will you see Miss Meldreth, ma'am? She says she would like a few words with you, if you can see her. She's down-stairs."

"Bring Sabina Meldreth to me," said Mrs. Vane.