kettle of fish!" screamed the parrot.

Betty and Molly had gone home. Mr Onslow had read prayers, the
servants were filing out of the room, and Rhoda was lighting the
candles.

"Well, my dear," asked Mrs Latrobe, looking up rather suddenly, "is
your decision taken?"

"It is, Madam," readily answered her niece.

"So much the better. What is it, my dear?"

"I should prefer to go to service, if you please, Madam."

"You would!" Mrs Latrobe's tone showed surprise. "Very well: I
promised you your choice. As lady's woman, I suppose?"

"If you please, Madam."

"Certainly, my dear. It shall be as you wish. Then to-morrow I will
begin to look out for you. I should think I shall hear of a place in a
week or two."

Rhoda made no answer, but took up her candle, and departed with merely,
"Good-night, Madam."

But as Phoebe went upstairs behind her, she noted Rhoda's bowed head,
her hand tightly grasping the banisters, her drowning, farewell look at
the family portraits, as she passed them on her way up the corridor. At
length she paused before three which hung together.

In the midst stood their grandmother, a handsome, haughty figure, taken
at about the age of thirty; and on either side a daughter, at about
eighteen years of age. Rhoda lifted her light first to Madam's face.
She said nothing to indicate her thoughts there, but passed on, and
paused for another minute before the pretty, sparkling face of Anne
Latrobe. Then she came back, and raised the light, for a longer time
than either, to the pale, regular, unexpressive features of Catherine
Peveril. Phoebe waited for her to speak. It came at last.

"I never knew her," said Rhoda, in a choked voice. "I wonder if _they_
know what is happening on earth."

"I should not think so," answered Phoebe, softly.

"Well,--I hope not!"

The hand which held the lifted light came down, and Rhoda passed into
her own room, and at once knelt down to her prayers. Phoebe stood
irresolute, her heart beating like a hammer. An idea had occurred to
her which, if it could be carried into effect, would help Rhoda out of
all her trouble. But in order to be so, it was necessary that she
herself must commit--in her own eyes--an act of unparalleled audacity.
Could she do it? The minute seemed an hour. Phoebe heard her mother go
upstairs, and shut her door. A rapid prayer went to God for wisdom.
Her resolution grew stronger. She took up her candle, stole softly
downs