ell them to me.
Nothing sends away unpleasant ideas so soon as communicating them to
others."

But Miss Darrell had evidently not heard the words; she had relapsed
into deep meditation, and Miss Hastings thought it better to leave her
alone. Suddenly Pauline looked up.

"Miss Hastings," she said, "I suppose a solemn promise, solemnly given,
can never be broken?"

"It never should be broken," replied the governess. "Instances have been
known where people have preferred death to breaking such a promise."

"Yes, such deaths have been known. I should imagine," commented Pauline,
with a gleam of light on her face, "that no Darrell ever broke his or
her word when it had been solemnly given."

"I should imagine not," said Miss Hastings.

But she had no clew to her pupil's musings or to the reason of her
question.

So the noon-day shadows crept on. Purple-winged butterflies coquetted
with the flowers, resting on the golden breasts of the white lilies, and
on the crimson leaves of the rose; busy bees murmured over the rich
clove carnations; the birds sang sweet, jubilant songs, and a gentle
breeze stirred faintly the leaves on the trees. For once Pauline Darrell
seemed blind to the warm, sweet summer beauty; it lay unheeded before
her.

Miss Hastings saw Sir Oswald coming toward them; a murmur of surprise
came from her lips.

"Pauline," she said, "look at Sir Oswald--how ill he seems. I am afraid
something is wrong."

He drew near to them, evidently deeply agitated.

"I am glad to find you here, Miss Hastings," he said; "I am in trouble.
Nay, Pauline, do not go; my troubles should be yours."

For the girl had risen with an air of proud weariness, intending to
leave them together. At his words--the kindest he had spoken to her for
some time--she took her seat again; but the haughty, listless manner did
not change.

"I am nearly sixty years of age," said Sir Oswald, "and this is the
first time such a trouble has come to me. Miss Hastings, do you remember
that conversation of ours last night, over that roll of notes in the
ebony box?"

"I remember it perfectly, Sir Oswald."

"I went this morning to take them from the box, to take their numbers
and send them to the bank, and I could not find them--they were gone."

"Gone!" repeated Miss Hastings. "It is impossible! You must be mistaken;
you must have overlooked them. What did they amount to?"

"Exactly one thousand pounds," he replied. "I cannot understand it.