r laughed more
often than Ermengarde. She thought herself safe, and it never occurred
to her as possible that the doings of that day could ever be known.

CHAPTER VI.

A STOLEN TREASURE.

When Ermengarde left the room, Susy looked round her. She was a
thoroughly comfortable young person; her nature had plenty of daring
in it, and she was not prone to timidity. She was not much afraid of
being caught, and she did not feel at all inclined to hurry out of the
governess's room.

Susy was one of those unfortunate little mortals whose pretty face,
instead of bringing with it a blessing, as all beauty ought, had quite
the reverse effect upon her. It made her discontented. Like many other
foolish little maids, she longed to have been born in a higher station
than Providence intended; she longed to be rich and a lady.

Susy was an only child, and her mother, who had once been a
lady's-maid, always dressed her neatly and with taste. Susy spoke with
a more refined accent than most children of her class; her dress, too,
was better than theirs; she thought a very little would make her what
she most desired to be, a lady. And when Ermengarde began to take
notice of her, she felt that her ambition was all but fulfilled.

Ermie had often met Susy in the grounds, and, attracted by her
beautiful little face, had talked to her, and filled the poor child
with conceit. Mr. Wilton had once seen Ermengarde and Susy chatting in
a very confidential manner together. He at once separated the
children, told Ermie she was not to make a friend of Susan Collins,
and told Susan Collins that she was to mind her place, and go back to
her mother. These instructions he further reiterated to Miss Nelson
and to Susan's father. The children were forbidden to speak, and
Ermengarde, proud, rebellious, without any real sense of right or
honor, instantly contrived to evade her father's commands, and saw
more of Susy than ever.

Not until to-day, however, had Susan Collins been inside Wilton Chase.
Over and over she had longed to see the interior of what her mother
was pleased to call the 'noble pile.' But not until to-day had this
longing been gratified. In a most unexpected way she at last found
herself at the Chase. She had enjoyed a good dinner there. That dinner
had been followed by nearly an hour of great misery and terror. Still,
she had been there, and she reflected with pride that, in
consequence, she could now hold up her head higher th