da.

"That is very wicked,--heinously wicked." Whereupon Madame Staubach
went towards the door for the purpose of bolting it, and Linda
knew that this was preparatory to a prayer. Linda felt that it was
impossible that she should fall on her knees and attempt to pray at
this moment. What was the use of it? Sooner or later she must yield.
She had no weapon with which to carry on the battle, whereas her aunt
was always armed.

"Aunt Charlotte," she said, suddenly, "I will do what you want,--only
not now; not quite yet. Let there be time for me to make myself ready
for it."

The dreaded visitation of that special prayer was at any rate
arrested, and Madame Staubach graciously accepted Linda's assent as
sufficient quittance at any rate for the evil words that had been
spoken on that occasion. She was too wise to demand a more gracious
acquiescence, and did not say a word then even in opposition to the
earnest request which had been made for delay. She kissed her niece,
and rejoiced as the woman rejoiced who had swept diligently and had
found her lost piece. If Linda would at last take the right path, all
former deviations from it should be as nothing. And Madame Staubach
half-trusted, almost thought, that it could not be but that her
own prayers should prevail at last. Linda indeed had twice before
assented, and had twice retracted her word. But there had been
causes. The young man had come and had prevailed, who surely would
not come again, and who surely, if coming, would not prevail. And
then Peter himself had misbehaved. It must now be Madame Staubach's
care that there should arise no further stumbling-block. There were
but two modes of taking this care at her disposal. She could watch
Linda all the day, and she could reiterate her prayers with renewed
diligence. On neither point would she be found lacking.

"And when shall be the happy day?" said Peter. On the occasion of
his visit to the parlour subsequent to the scene which has just been
described, Madame Staubach left the room for a while so that the two
lovers might be together. Peter had been warned that it would be so,
and had prepared, no doubt, his little speech.

"There will be no happy day," said Linda.

"Don't say that, my dear."

"I do say it. There will be no happy day for you or for me."

"But we must fix a day, you know," said Peter.

"I will arrange it with my aunt." Then Linda got up and left the
room. Peter Steinmarc attempted no further c