roviding for the child. Do not speak of it to the girl herself or
to any one in the village. And pray do not allude to it in conversation
with my cousins at the Hall!"

"If you wish it, of course I will not mention it to any one," said Mrs.
Rumbold, bridling a little at what she conceived to be an imputation on
her discretion. "You may trust me, I am sure, Mr. Lepel. We will not
breathe a word."

"And particularly not a word to the child herself," Hubert said, turning
his eyes upon the Rector's wife with such earnestness in their troubled
depths that she was quite impressed. "I do not wish her to be burdened
with the feeling that she owes anything to us."

"Oh, Mr. Lepel, how generous, how delicate-minded!" cried the effusive
little woman, throwing up her hands in admiration. "Now I wouldn't have
believed that there was a young man that could be so thoughtful of
others' feelings--I wouldn't indeed, Mr. Hubert! Must you go? Won't you
stay and have dinner with us to-night?"

"Thank you--no; I am engaged--a dinner in town," said Hubert hastily. "I
will leave you my address"--he produced a card from his pocket-book, and
with it a ten-pound note--"and this will perhaps be useful in getting
clothes and things of that kind for her. If you want more, you will let
me know."

He escaped with difficulty from Mrs. Rumbold's rapturous expression of
surprise at his liberality, and at last got out into the hall. Andrew
Westwood's little girl was still sitting on the chair where she had been
placed, her hands crossed before her on her lap, her bare feet swinging
idly to and fro, her dark eyes fixed vaguely on the trees and shrubs of
the Rectory garden, which she could see from the hall window. Hubert
paused beside her and spoke.

"I am going to leave you with this lady--Mrs. Rumbold," he said. "You
know her already, and know that she will be kind to you. You are to go
to a good school, where I hope that you will be happy."

The child's eyes dilated as she listened to him.

"Are you going away?" she said.

"Yes; I am going back to London," the young man answered kindly. "You
will stay here, like a good little girl, won't you?"

"Do you want me to?" she said, pushing her hair back from her forehead
and gazing at him anxiously.

"Yes, I do."

She nodded. "I'll stay," she said curtly.

And then she lapsed once more into her former state of silence and
sullenness; and Hubert left her with a smile of farewell and a secret
as