s, and had
kissed him--fervently, shamelessly kissed him--before the servants in
the hall!

She started to her feet, roused to a frenzy of rage by her own
recollections. Standing at the window, she looked down at the pavement
of the courtyard--it was far enough below to kill her instantly if she
fell on it. Through the heat of her anger there crept the chill and
stealthy prompting of despair. She leaned over the window-sill--she was
not afraid--she might have done it, but for a trifling interruption.
Somebody spoke outside.

It was the parlour-maid. Instead of entering the room, she spoke through
the open door. The woman was one of Miss Minerva's many enemies in the
house. "Mrs. Gallilee wishes to see you," she said--and shut the door
again, the instant the words were out of her mouth.

Mrs. Gallilee!

The very name was full of promise at that moment. It suggested
hope--merciless hope.

She left the window, and consulted her looking-glass. Even to herself,
her haggard face was terrible to see. She poured eau-de-cologne and
water into her basin, and bathed her burning head and eyes. Her shaggy
black hair stood in need of attention next. She took almost as much
pains with it as if she had been going into the presence of Ovid
himself. "I must make a calm appearance," she thought, still as far as
ever from suspecting that her employer had guessed her secret, "or his
mother may find me out." Her knees trembled under her. She sat down for
a minute to rest.

Was she merely wanted for some ordinary domestic consultation? or
was there really a chance of hearing the question of Ovid and Carmina
brought forward at the coming interview?

She believed what she hoped: she believed that the time had come when
Mrs. Gallilee had need of an ally--perhaps of an accomplice. Only let
her object be the separation of the two cousins--and Miss Minerva was
eager to help her, in either capacity. Suppose she was too cautious to
mention her object? Miss Minerva was equally ready for her employer,
in that case. The doubt which had prompted her fruitless suggestions
to Carmina, when they were alone in the young girl's room--the doubt
whether a clue to the discovery of Mrs. Gallilee's motives might not
be found, in that latter part of the Will which she had failed to
overhear--was as present as ever in the governess's mind. "The learned
lady is not infallible," she thought as she entered Mrs. Gallilee's
room. "If one unwary word trips over