e been a young duchess by the frankness with
which she met his look.

"I come from Marie Rondeau," she said, "who has sprained her foot and
cannot walk. Mr. Bashley said she might send for the money due to her if
she was still lame."

"Your name then is--" he inquired, pausing for her to fill up the
question by her answer.

"Sara Rondeau," she said simply; "it is for my aunt that I come. I live
with my aunt."

"And Bashley, does he--did he--has he visited you to bring you money?"
Already the lad felt a short jealous pang, but knew not what it was.

"He has been to measure our work, but not to bring money. My aunt comes
here herself."

But Bashley had been there, and the image of this young girl had roused
his sordid fancy. Is it a wonder that he soon began to hate his young
master?

Antoine felt the warm blood in his face as he wrapped in a paper the few
shillings that were due.

"Do not come again on such an errand," he said. "I will call and see if
your aunt is better, and will, if necessary, bring some more money
myself."

There is little need to say that Antoine kept his promise; that merry
bustling little Marie Rondeau (how unlike her niece she was, to be
sure!) was in a constant tremor when the little wicket-gate of her
garden clicked, and she, looking through the leaden casement of the
upper room, saw the young master coming along the little path, with its
two rows of oyster-shells dividing it from the gay plots of
gilliflowers, double-stocks, and sweet-williams. She trembled too for
the peace of the fair girl, who had too soon learned to know his
footstep, and to flush with pleasure at his approach.

Already trouble seemed to threaten them, for Bashley had warned her, and
in a coarse insolent way had said he meant to be Sara's sweetheart
himself--or they might seek work elsewhere.

One night, when Antoine entered the garden, he was surprised to find old
Pierre Dobree there.

"You must come no more yet, if you would spare this child from sorrow,"
he said, after talking long and earnestly. "Your new foreman watches
you, and already hints to your grandfather that you are engaged in some
mean intrigue. You bring evil where I would have you do good, Master
Antoine. Come no more, I entreat you."

"And Sara--does she wish that also?" said the young fellow, reddening.
"I have never spoken a word to her that could not be said before her
aunt. Why do you interpose, Peter Dobree?"

"Excuse me. The aunt