er; Eric had coaxed to be allowed to go with the
under-gamekeeper to see the young pheasants. The house was very still,
and Ermie had the pleasant old schoolroom to herself. She read
eagerly; in spite of herself--perhaps unknown to herself--she was
anxious to drown reflection.

It was late in the evening of that same day that Miss Nelson answered
a knock which came to her sitting-room door, and was surprised to see
Basil pop in his dark head.

"Oh, you're alone; that's right," he said. "May I come in for a
minute?"

His manner was a little nervous and hurried, in perfect contrast to
his usual open, frank sort of way.

"I've brought you this back," he said, going up to Miss Nelson. "I'm
awfully sorry about it, and the worst of it is I can't give any
explanation. It's disgracefully broken and injured, but I thought you
would rather have it back as it is, than never to see it again."

Miss Nelson turned very white while Basil was speaking. An eager,
longing, hopeful look grew and grew in her eyes. She stretched out her
hands; they trembled.

"My miniature!" she exclaimed. "My picture once again. Oh, Basil,
thank God! Oh, I have missed it!"

"Here it is," said Basil. He had wrapped the poor little injured
picture up in some white tissue-paper, and tied the parcel together
with a bit of ribbon. He hoped Miss Nelson would say something before
she opened it.

"Here it is--it isn't a bit the same," he said.

She scarcely heard him. She began feverishly to pull the ribbon away.

"I wouldn't look at it just for a minute," began Basil. He had
scarcely spoken, before there came a knock at the door. A firm voice
said, "May I come in?" and Miss Wilton, who had returned from London
about an hour before, entered the room. She came in just in time to
see Miss Nelson remove the tissue-paper from the broken face of the
miniature. The poor governess uttered a piercing cry, sank down on her
knees by the center table, and covered her thin face with her hands.

"What is it, Basil? What is the matter?" asked Miss Wilton in
astonishment. "I come in to find high heroics going on. What is the
matter?"

Basil did not say a word. Miss Nelson suddenly raised her pale face.
She rose to her feet. "Not high heroics," she said, "but deep grief; I
had a memento of the past--a young and happy past. I treasured it. It
was stolen from me about ten days ago. I don't know by whom. I don't
know why it was stolen. Now it has been returned--like