hing will do which can carry me to the
house. Is there room for my trunk?"

Michael with strong, serviceable arms swung the trunk lightly into the
wagon. She was already seated, the boy, who was to drive, beside her.

"Oh, thank you." She drew a diminutive purse from her travelling-bag,
and was evidently about to recompense him when something in his manner
deterred her. She thanked him again, for gracious words fell lightly
and easily from her lips, and the little vehicle went rattling out upon
the road.

Mrs. Pinckney's house was four or five miles from the station: the boy
drove at a furious pace, and it was by good luck rather than by good
guidance that no catastrophe occurred. The beautiful day was succeeded
by a cloudy evening: neither moon nor stars were visible, and as they
passed through the avenue leading to the house, under the branches of
magnificent old trees, large drops of rain began to fall. The light
which shone through the open door revealed camp-chairs still standing
on the lawn, and children's toys were scattered over the veranda. The
boy's rough feet as he carried in her trunk annihilated the face of a
smart French doll, and Miss Featherstone's dress caught on, and was
torn by, a nail in a dilapidated rocking-horse. The light came from a
picturesque-looking lamp which hung from an arch in the centre of a
broad, low hall. She rang the bell: the sound reverberated through the
house, yet no one came. The boy, who had stood the trunk on end,
growing impatient, rang again: they heard voices, hubbub and confusion,
children's cries, servants summoned, a man speaking very volubly in
French. Then very imperfect English sentences were shouted in a kind of
despair. The door was divided in the middle, with a large brass knocker
as an appendage to the upper half. Miss Featherstone, growing anxious
and impatient, sounded this vigorously, which brought a maid, who had
evidently quite lost her head, to the door.

"This is Mrs. Pinckney's?" said the young girl in prompt, cheerful
tones. "I am Miss Featherstone, the governess, whom Mrs. Pinckney
expects."

"Yes, ma'am," replied the servant in an absent, distracted manner.

"Marie!" shrieked the French voice in shrill tones of alarm and anger.

"Please, miss, I must go. Do come in and sit down: I'll send
somebody--"

"Marie! Marie!--Where is that _vilaine femme?"_

At the second summons she fled, leaving Miss Featherstone and the boy,
standing with her trunk