air, deliberating
upon the Captain's last speech. She decided presently to yield, and
obey her mother and stepfather. After all, what did it matter where she
went? That scheme of being happy in Sweden with Miss McCroke was but an
idle fancy. In the depths of her inner consciousness Violet Tempest
knew that she could be happy nowhere away from Rorie and the Forest.
What did it matter, then, whether she went to Jersey or Kamtchatka, the
sandy desert of Gobi or the Mountains of the Moon? In either case exile
meant moral death, the complete renunciation of all that had been sweet
and precious in her uneventful young life--the shadowy beech-groves;
the wandering streams; the heathery upland plains; the deep ferny
hollows, where the footsteps of humanity were almost unknown; the
cluster of tall trees on the hill tops, where the herons came sailing
home from their flight across Southampton Water; her childhood's
companion; her horse; her old servants. Banishment meant a long
farewell to all these.

"I suppose I may take my dog with me?" she asked, after a long pause,
during which she had wavered between submission and revolt, "and my
maid?"

"I see no objection to your taking your dog; though I doubt whether my
aunt will care to have a dog of that size prowling about her house. He
can have a kennel somewhere, I daresay. You must learn to do without a
maid. Feminine helplessness is going out of fashion; and one would
expect an Amazon like you to be independent of lady's-maids and
milliners."

"Why don't you state the case in plain English?" cried Vixen
scornfully. "If I took Phoebe with me she would cost money. There would
be her wages and maintenance to be provided. If I leave her behind, you
can dismiss her. You have a fancy for dismissing old servants."

"Had you not better see to the packing of your trunks?" asked Captain
Winstanley, ignoring this shaft.

"What is to become of my horse?"

"I think you must resign yourself to leave him to fate and me," replied
the Captain coolly; "my aunt may submit to the infliction of your dog,
but that she should tolerate a young lady's roaming about the island on
a thoroughbred horse would be rather too much to expect from her
old-fashioned notions of propriety."

"Besides, even Arion would cost something to keep," retorted Vixen,
"and strict economy is the rule of your life. If you sell him--and, of
course, you will do so--please let Lord Mallow have the refusal of him.
I thin