re you are not to
blame, Miss Jillgall--"

"Oh, don't!"

"Don't--what?"

"Don't call me Miss Jillgall. I call you Helena. Call me Selina."

I had really not supposed it possible that she could be more unendurable
than ever. When she mentioned her Christian name, she succeeded
nevertheless in producing that result. In the whole list of women's
names, is there any one to be found so absolutely sickening as "Selina"?
I forced myself to pronounce it; I made another neatly-expressed
apology; I said English servants were so very peculiar. Selina was more
than satisfied; she was quite delighted.

"Is that it, indeed? An explanation was all I wanted. How good of you!
And now tell me--is there no chance, in the house or out of the house,
of my making myself useful? Oh, what's that? Do I see a chance? I do! I
do!"

Miss Jillgall's eyes are more than mortal. At one time, they are
microscopes. At another time, they are telescopes. She discovered (right
across the room) the torn place in the window-curtain. In an instant,
she snatched a dirty little leather case out of her pocket, threaded her
needle and began darning the curtain. She sang over her work. "My heart
is light, my will is free--" I can repeat no more of it. When I heard
her singing voice, I became reckless of consequences, and ran out of the
room with my hands over my ears.

CHAPTER XVI. HELENA'S DIARY.

When I reached the foot of the stairs, my father called me into his
study.

I found him at his writing-table, with such a heap of torn-up paper in
his waste-basket that it overflowed on to the floor. He explained to me
that he had been destroying a large accumulation of old letters, and
had ended (when his employment began to grow wearisome) in examining his
correspondence rather carelessly. The result was that he had torn up a
letter, and a copy of the reply, which ought to have been set aside as
worthy of preservation. After collecting the fragments, he had heaped
them on the table. If I could contrive to put them together again on
fair sheets of paper, and fasten them in their right places with gum, I
should be doing him a service, at a time when he was too busy to set his
mistake right for himself.

Here was the best excuse that I could desire for keeping out of Miss
Jillgall's way. I cheerfully set to work on the restoration of the
letters, while my father went on with his writing.

Having put the fragments together--excepting a few gaps caused b