ning to him with lips firmly set, and without words. It
was not till he was past speech that she gave him any answer.

"Jack," she said at last, to the pleading eyes which were more eloquent
than the hushed voice had been, "look you here. I will not seek the
girl out. She has made her bed, and let her lie on it! But I will do
this for you--and I should never have done that without your asking and
praying me now. If she comes or sends to me, I will not refuse her some
help. I shall please myself what sort. But I won't turn her quite
away, for your sake."

The pleading eyes turned to grateful ones. An hour later, and Madam was
a widow.

Fourteen years passed, during which Rhoda grew up into a maiden of
nineteen years, always in the custody of her grandmother. Her father
had fallen in one of the Duke of Marlborough's battles, and before his
death had been compelled to sell Peveril Manor to liquidate his gambling
debts. He left nothing for Rhoda beyond his exquisite wardrobe and
jewellery, a service of gold plate, and a number of unpaid bills, which
Madam flatly refused to take upon herself, and defied the unhappy
tradesmen to impose upon Rhoda. She did, however, keep the plate and
jewels; and by way of a sop to Cerberus, allowed the "beggarly
craftsmen," whom she so heartily despised, to sell and divide the
proceeds of the wardrobe.

When the fourteen years were at an end, on an afternoon in September, a
letter was brought to the Abbey for Madam. Its bearer was a
respectable, looking middle-aged woman. Madam ordered her to have some
refreshment, while she read the letter. Rhoda noticed that her hand
shook as she held it, and wondered what it could be about. Letters were
unusual and important documents in those days. But it was the signature
that had startled Madam--"Anne Latrobe."

Mrs Latrobe wrote in a strain of suffering, penitence, and entreaty.
She was in sore trouble. Her husband was dead; of her five children
only one was living. She herself was capable of taking a situation as
lady's maid--a higher position then than now--and she knew of one lady
who was willing to engage her, if she could provide otherwise for
Phoebe. Phoebe was the second of her children, and was now seventeen.
She expressed her sorrow for the undutiful behaviour of which she had
been guilty towards both parents; and she besought in all ignorance the
father who had been dead for fourteen years, to plead with Madam, to
hel