kly. "How are the lessons getting on?" she began--and checked
herself with a start, "Kitty!" she exclaimed, "Crying?"

The child ran to her mother with tears in her eyes. "Look at Syd! She
sulks; she cries; she won't talk to me--send for the doctor."

"You tiresome child, I don't want the doctor. I'm not ill."

"There, mamma!" cried Kitty. "She never scolded me before to-day."

In other words, here was a complete reversal of the usual order of
things in the schoolroom. Patient Sydney was out of temper; gentle
Sydney spoke bitterly to the little friend whom she loved. Mrs. Linley
drew a chair to the governess's side, and took her hand. The strangely
altered girl tore her hand away and burst into a violent fit of crying.
Puzzled and frightened, Kitty (to the best of a child's ability)
followed her example. Mrs. Linley took her daughter on her knee, and
gave Sydney's outbreak of agitation time to subside. There were no
feverish appearances in her face, there was no feverish heat in her skin
when their hands had touched each other for a moment. In all probability
the mischief was nervous mischief, and the outburst of weeping was an
hysterical effort at relief.

"I am afraid, my dear, you have had a bad night," Mrs. Linley said.

"Bad? Worse than bad!"

Sydney stopped; looked at her good mistress and friend in terror;
and made a confused effort to explain away what she had just said. As
sensibly and kindly self-possessed as ever, Mrs. Linley told her that
she only wanted rest and quiet. "Let me take you to my room," she
proposed. "We will have the sofa moved into the balcony, and you will
soon go to sleep in the delicious warm air. You may put away your books,
Kitty; this is a holiday. Come with me, and be petted and spoiled by the
ladies in the morning-room."

Neither the governess nor the pupil was worthy of the sympathy
so frankly offered to them. Still strangely confused, Sydney made
commonplace apologies and asked leave to go out and walk in the park.
Hearing this, Kitty declared that where her governess went she would go
too. Mrs. Linley smoothed her daughter's pretty auburn hair, and said,
playfully: "I think I ought to be jealous." To her surprise, Sydney
looked up as if the words had been addressed to herself "You mustn't be
fonder, my dear, of your governess," Mrs. Linley went on, "than you are
of your mother." She kissed the child, and, rising to go, discovered
that Sydney had moved to another part of the