f the heartiest enjoyment. Maria herself
condescended to smile, now and then. There was only one dull person
among them. "Miss Carmina was but poor company," the maid remarked when
they got back.

Mrs. Gallilee herself received them in the hall.

"You will never take the children out again without my leave," she said
to Carmina. "The person who is really responsible for what you have
done, will mislead you no more." With those words she entered the
library, and closed the door.

Maria and Zo, at the sight of their mother, had taken flight. Carmina
stood alone in the hall. Mrs. Gallilee had turned her cold. After
awhile, she followed the children as far as her own room. There, her
resolution failed her. She called faintly upstairs--"Frances!" There was
no answering voice. She went into her room. A small paper packet was on
the table; sealed, and addressed to herself. She tore it open. A ring
with a spinel ruby in it dropped out: she recognised the stone--it was
Miss Minerva's ring.

Some blotted lines were traced on the paper inside.

"I have tried to pour out my heart to you in writing--and I have torn
up the letters. The fewest words are the best. Look back at my
confession--and you will know why I have left you. You shall hear from
me, when I am more worthy of you than I am now. In the meantime, wear my
ring. It will tell you how mean I once was. F. M."

Carmina looked at the ring. She remembered that Frances had tried to
make her accept it as security, in return for the loan of thirty pounds.

She referred to the confession. Two passages in it were underlined:
"The wickedness in me, on which Mrs. Gallilee calculated, may be in me
still." And, again: "Even now, when you have found me out, I love him.
Don't trust me."

Never had Carmina trusted her more faithfully than at that bitter
moment!

CHAPTER XLI.

The ordinary aspect of the schoolroom was seen no more.

Installed in a position of temporary authority, the parlour-maid sat
silently at her needlework. Maria stood by the window, in the new
character of an idle girl--with her handkerchief in her hand, and her
everlasting book dropped unnoticed on the floor. Zo lay flat on her
back, on the hearth-rug, hugging the dog in her arms. At intervals, she
rolled herself over slowly from side to side, and stared at the
ceiling with wondering eyes. Miss Minerva's departure had struck the
parlour-maid dumb, and had demoralized the pupils.

Maria broke the