admonition; some things she did
simply because she could not help doing them. She had intended to make
her little confession immediately; but Miss Vanhorn gave her no
opportunity. "That is enough talking," she said. "I have neuralgia in my
eyebrow."

"But, grandaunt, I feel that I ought to tell you."

"Tell me nothing. Don't you know how to be silent? Set about learning,
then. When I have neuralgia in my eyebrow, you are to speak only from
necessity; when I have it in the eye itself, you are not to speak at
all. Find me a caraway, and don't bungle."

She handed her velvet bag to Anne, and refitted the fingers of her
yellow glove: evidently the young girl's duties were beginning.

Several days passed, but the neuralgia always prevented the story. At
last the eyebrow was released, and then Anne spoke. "I wish to tell
you, grandaunt, before I come to you, that I am engaged--engaged to be
married."

"Who cares?" said Miss Vanhorn. "To the man in the moon, I suppose; most
school-girls are."

"No, to--"

"Draw up my shawl," interrupted the old woman. "_I_ do not care who it
is. Why do you keep on telling me?"

"Because I did not wish to deceive you."

"Wait till I ask you not to deceive me. Who is the boy?"

"His name is Erastus Pronando," began Anne; "and--"

"Pronando?" cried Katharine Vanhorn, in a loud, bewildered
voice--"Pronando? And his father's name?"

"John, I believe," said Anne, startled by the change in the old face.
"But he has been dead many years."

Old Katharine rose; her hands trembled, her eyes flashed. "You will give
up this boy at once and forever," she said, violently, "or my compact
with you is at an end."

"How can I, grandaunt? I have promised--"

"I believe I am mistress of my own actions; and in this affair I will
have no sort of hesitation," continued the old woman, taking the words
from Anne, and tapping a chair back angrily with her hand. "Decide
now--this moment. Break this engagement, and my agreement remains.
Refuse to break it, and it falls. That is all."

"You are unjust and cruel," said the girl, roused by these arbitrary
words.

Miss Vanhorn waved her hand for silence.

"If you will let me tell you, aunt--"

The old woman bounded forward suddenly, as if on springs, seized her
niece by both shoulders, and shook her with all her strength. "There!"
she said, breathless. "_Will_ you stop talking! All I want is your
answer--yes, or no."

The drawing-room of Madame Mor