he bedroom as usual and wish her
good-night, Kitty was astonished by the appearance of her grandmother,
entering on tiptoe from the corridor, with a small paper parcel in her
hand.

"Whisper!" said Mrs. Presty, pointing to the open door of communication
with Mrs. Linley's room. "This is your birthday present. You mustn't
look at it till you wake to-morrow morning." She pushed the parcel under
the pillow--and, instead of saying good-night, took a chair and sat
down.

"May I show my present," Kitty asked, "when I go to mamma in the
morning?"

The present hidden under the paper wrapper was a sixpenny picture-book.
Kitty's grandmother disapproved of spending money lavishly on birthday
gifts to children. "Show it, of course; and take the greatest care of
it," Mrs. Presty answered gravely. "But tell me one thing, my dear,
wouldn't you like to see all your presents early in the morning, like
mine?"

Still smarting under the recollection of her interview with her
son-in-law, Mrs. Presty had certain ends to gain in putting this idea
into the child's head. It was her special object to raise domestic
obstacles to a private interview between the husband and wife during
the earlier hours of the day. If the gifts, usually presented after the
nursery dinner, were produced on this occasion after breakfast, there
would be a period of delay before any confidential conversation could
take place between Mr. and Mrs. Linley. In this interval Mrs. Presty saw
her opportunity of setting Linley's authority at defiance, by rousing
the first jealous suspicion in the mind of his wife.

Innocent little Kitty became her grandmother's accomplice on the spot.
"I shall ask mamma to let me have my presents at breakfast-time," she
announced.

"And kind mamma will say Yes," Mrs. Presty chimed in. "We will breakfast
early, my precious child. Good-night."

Kitty was half asleep when her governess entered the room afterward,
much later than usual. "I thought you had forgotten me," she said,
yawning and stretching out her plump little arms.

Sydney's heart ached when she thought of the separation that was to come
with the next day; her despair forced its way to expression in words.

"I wish I could forget you," she answered, in reckless wretchedness.

The child was still too drowsy to hear plainly. "What did you say?" she
asked. Sydney gently lifted her in the bed, and kissed her again and
again. Kitty's sleepy eyes opened in surprise. "How cold