ed shocked and horrified.

"My poor child! I had no idea of this."

He laid me on the couch while he walked up and down the room.

"Horrible!" I heard him say. "Frightful! Poor child! Alice shall go at
once!"

He rang the bell when he had compelled me to repeat every word I had
overheard, and sent for the housekeeper. I heard the whispering, but not
the words--there was a long, angry conversation. I heard Sir Roland say
"that Alice and every one else who had shared in those kind of
conversations should leave." Then he kissed me.

"Papa," I cried to him, "will you send Miss Reinhart away? No other
change is of any use."

"My dear Laura, you are prejudiced. You must not listen to those stupid
servants and their vile exaggerations. Miss Reinhart is very good and
very useful to me. I cannot send her away as I would dismiss a
servant--nor do I intend."

"Let her go, that we may be happy as we were before. Oh, papa! she does
not love mamma. She is not good; every one dislikes her. No one will
speak to her. What shall we do? Send her away!"

"This is all a mistake, Laura," he said; "a cruel--I might say
wicked--mistake. You must not talk to me in this way again."

Perhaps more might have been said; it might even have been that the
tragedy had been averted but for the sudden rap at the door and the
announcement that the rector wished to see Sir Roland.

"Ask him to step in here," said my father, with a great mark of
discomposure. "Laura, run away, child, and remember what I have said. Do
not speak to me in this fashion again."

I learned afterward that the rector had called to remonstrate with
him--to tell him what a scandal and shame was spreading all over the
country side, and to beg of him to end it.

Many hours elapsed before I saw my father again. I saw him ride out of
the courtyard and did not see him return. When I had gone to his room in
the morning I had taken with me one of my books, and I wanted it for my
studies in the morning.

It was neither light nor dark. I went quietly along the broad corridors
to my father's study. I never gave one thought to the fact that my
father might be there. I had not seen him return. I went in. The study
was a very long room with deep windows. Quite at the other end, with the
firelight shining on his face, stood my father, and by his side Miss
Reinhart, just as I had seen him stand with my beautiful mother a
hundred times; one arm was thrown round her, and he was lookin