t put into such cold, brutal words was more than she could
endure. It seemed to make everything so horribly sure.

"I guess I had a right to listen, hadn't I, with such goings on in my
own house? You're a little fool, Estella Bowes! I don't believe that
LeMar girl is a bit better than she ought to be. I wish I'd never
taken her to board, and if you say so, I'll send her packing right off
and not give her a chance to make mischief atween folks."

Estella's suffering found vent in a burst of anger.

"You needn't do anything of the sort!" she cried.

"It's all nonsense about Spencer--it was my fault--and anyhow, if he
is so easily led away as that, I am sure I don't want him! I wish to
goodness, Aunt, you'd leave me alone!"

"Oh, very well!" returned Mrs. Bowes in an offended tone. "It was for
your own good I spoke. You know best, I suppose. If you don't care, I
don't know that anyone else need."

Estella went about her work like one in a dream. A great hatred had
sprung up in her heart against Vivienne LeMar. The simple-hearted
country girl felt almost murderous. The whole day seemed like a
nightmare to her. When night came she dressed herself with feverish
care, for she could not quell the hope that Spencer would surely come
again. But he did not; and when she went up to bed, it did not seem as
if she could live through the night. She lay staring wide-eyed through
the darkness until dawn. She wished that she might cry, but no tears
came to her relief.

Next day she went to work with furious energy. When her usual tasks
were done, she ransacked the house for other employment. She was
afraid if she stopped work for a moment she would go mad. Mrs. Bowes
watched her with a grim pity.

At night she walked to prayer meeting in the schoolhouse a mile away.
She always went, and Spencer was generally on hand to see her home. He
was not there tonight. She wished she had not come. It was dreadful to
have to sit still and think. She did not hear a word the minister
said.

She had to walk home with a crowd of girls and nerve herself to answer
their merry sallies that no one might suspect. She was tortured by the
fear that everyone knew her shame and humiliation and was pitying her.
She got hysterically gay, but underneath all she was constantly trying
to assign a satisfactory reason for Spencer's nonappearance. He was
often kept away, and of course he was a little cross at her yet, as
was natural. If he had come before her