utmost for your dear little daughter. There is
something very lovable about her, although sometimes I fear I do not
quite understand her."

"No one seems to understand Sibyl, and yet everyone thinks her
lovable," said the mother. "Well, give her my love; tell her I will
ride with her in the morning. She has had a present of a pony, quite a
ridiculous present; Lord Grayleigh was determined to give it to her.
He took an immense fancy to the child, and put the gift in such a way
that it would not have been wise to refuse. Don't forget, when you see
Watson, to tell him to bring tea to my boudoir."

Miss Winstead slowly left the room. She was a very quiet woman, about
thirty-five years of age. She had a stolid manner, and, as she said
herself, was a little narrow and a little old-fashioned, but she was
troubled now. She did not like the task set her. As she went upstairs
she muttered a solitary word.

"Coward!" she said, under her breath.

"I wish I was well out of this," thought the governess. "The child is
not an ordinary one, and the love she bears her father is not an
ordinary love."

Miss Winstead's schoolroom looked its brightest and best. The days
were growing quite long now, and flowers were plentiful. A large
basket of flowers had been sent from Grayleigh Manor that morning, and
Miss Winstead had secured some of the prettiest for her schoolroom.
She had decorated the tea-table and the mantelpiece, but with a pain
at her heart, for she was all the time wondering if Sibyl knew or did
not know. She could not quite understand from Ogilvie's manner whether
she knew or not. He was very reserved about her just at the last, he
evidently did not like to talk of her.

Miss Winstead entered the schoolroom. She sat down for a moment near
the open window. The day was still in its prime. She looked at the
clock. The under-housemaid, who had the charge of the schoolroom tea,
now came in with the tray. She laid the cloth and spread the
tea-things. There was a plate of little queen-cakes for Sibyl.

"Cook made these for Miss Sibyl," she said. "Does she know yet, Miss
Winstead, that the master has gone?"

"No," said Miss Winstead; "and I have got to tell her, Anne, and it is
a task I anything but like."

"I wouldn't be in your shoes for a deal, Miss," replied Anne, in a
sympathetic voice.

Just then a light, childish step was heard in the passage, and Sibyl
burst into the room.

"Here I am. Oh, I am so glad tea is rea