rying on, and indeed in Saltire's face there was no invitation to
linger, for, though he smiled at Roddy, Christine had never seen him so
cold and forbidding-looking.

"He knows that I know," she thought, "and, base as he is, that disturbs
him." The bitter thought brought her no consolation. She felt
desolate and alone, like one lost in a desert, with a great task to
accomplish and no friend in sight or sign in the skies. In the house,
she collected the little girls, and they spent the rest of the
afternoon together. The storm had broke suddenly, and the
long-threatened rain came at last, lashing up the earth and battering
on the window-panes amid deafening claps of thunder and a furious gale
of wind.

When bath-time came for the children, Christine stayed with them until
the last moment, superintending Meekie. She would have given worlds to
avoid going in to dinner that night. No one could have desired food
less, or the society of those with whom she must partake of it. Yet
she felt that it would be a sign of weakness and a concession to the
enemy if she stayed away, so she dressed as usual and went in to face
the dreary performance of sitting an hour or so with people whom she
held in fear as well as contempt, for she knew not from moment to
moment what new offence she might have to meet. Only great firmness of
spirit and her natural good breeding sustained her through that trying
meal.

Saltire did not put in an appearance, for which small mercy she was
fain to thank God. Deeply as he had wounded and offended her, she
hated to see his face as she had seen it that afternoon. Mrs. van
Cannan, oddly pallid but with burning eyes, absolutely ignored the
presence of the governess, and her lead was followed by all save Andrew
McNeil, who was no man's man but his own, and always treated the girl
with genial friendliness. As a matter of fact, there was but little
conversation, for the sound of the rain, swishing down on the roof and
windows and tearing through the trees without, deadened the sound of
voices, and everyone seemed distrait.

Christine was not the only one who finished her meal hurriedly. As she
rose, asking to be excused, Mrs. van Cannan, rising too, detained her.

"I wish to make arrangements with you about your departure tomorrow,
Miss Chaine," she said, loudly enough for everyone's hearing. "Kindly
come to my room."

There was nothing to be gained by not complying. Christine did not
mean