t it was only very young people who could take such
pleasure in the "Delectus." Ruth said, "Now, do let us try to be very
steady this next hour," and Mary pulled back Ruth's head, and gave
the pretty budding mouth a kiss. They sat down to work, while Mrs
Denbigh read aloud. A fresh sun-gleam burst into the room, and they
looked at each other with glad, anticipating eyes.

Jemima came in, ostensibly to seek for a book, but really from that
sort of restless weariness of any one place or employment, which had
taken possession of her since Mr Farquhar's return. She stood before
the bookcase in the recess, languidly passing over the titles in
search of the one she wanted. Ruth's voice lost a tone or two of its
peacefulness, and her eyes looked more dim and anxious at Jemima's
presence. She wondered in her heart if she dared to ask Miss Bradshaw
to accompany them in their expedition. Eighteen months ago she would
have urged it on her friend with soft, loving entreaty; now she was
afraid even to propose it as a hard possibility; everything she did
or said was taken so wrongly--seemed to add to the old dislike, or
the later stony contempt with which Miss Bradshaw had regarded her.
While they were in this way Mr Bradshaw came into the room. His
entrance--his being at home at all at this time--was so unusual
a thing, that the reading was instantly stopped; and all four
involuntarily looked at him, as if expecting some explanation of his
unusual proceeding.

His face was almost purple with suppressed agitation.

"Mary and Elizabeth, leave the room. Don't stay to pack up your
books. Leave the room, I say!" He spoke with trembling anger, and the
frightened girls obeyed without a word. A cloud passing over the sun
cast a cold gloom into the room which was late so bright and beaming;
but, by equalising the light, it took away the dark shadow from the
place where Jemima had been standing, and her figure caught her
father's eye.

"Leave the room, Jemima," said he.

"Why, father?" replied she, in an opposition that was strange even to
herself, but which was prompted by the sullen passion which seethed
below the stagnant surface of her life, and which sought a vent in
defiance. She maintained her ground, facing round upon her father,
and Ruth--Ruth, who had risen, and stood trembling, shaking, a
lightning-fear having shown her the precipice on which she stood. It
was of no use; no quiet, innocent life--no profound silence, even to