nollys.

'Nor to say a foolish thing, Monica. This has gone on too long. Don't you
see that little Maud here is silly enough to be frightened at your fun.'

So I was, but I could not divine how he guessed it.

'And well or ill, wisely or madly, I'll _never_ marry; so put that out of
your head.'

This was addressed rather to me, I think, than to Lady Knollys, who smiled
a little waggishly on me, and said--

'To be sure, Maud; maybe you are right; a stepdame is a risk, and I ought
to have asked you first what you thought of it; and upon my honour,' she
continued merrily but kindly, observing that my eyes, I know not exactly
from what feeling, filled with tears, 'I'll never again advise your papa to
marry, unless you first tell me you wish it.'

This was a great deal from Lady Knollys, who had a taste for advising her
friends and managing their affairs.

'I've a great respect for instinct. I believe, Austin, it is truer than
reason, and yours and Maud's are both against me, though I know I have
reason on my side.'

My father's brief wintry smile answered, and Cousin Monica kissed me, and
said--

'I've been so long my own mistress that I sometimes forget there are such
things as fear and jealousy; and are you going to your governess, Maud?'

CHAPTER XIV

_ANGRY WORDS_

I was going to my governess, as Lady Knollys said; and so I went. The
undefinable sense of danger that smote me whenever I beheld that woman had
deepened since last night's occurrence, and was taken out of the region
of instinct or prepossession by the strange though slight indications of
recognition and abhorrence which I had witnessed in Lady Knollys on that
occasion.

The tone in which Cousin Monica had asked, 'are you going to your
governess?' and the curious, grave, and anxious look that accompanied the
question, disturbed me; and there was something odd and cold in the tone as
if a remembrance had suddenly chilled her. The accent remained in my ear,
and the sharp brooding look was fixed before me as I glided up the broad
dark stairs to Madame de la Rougierre's chamber.

She had not come down to the school-room, as the scene of my studies was
called. She had decided on having a relapse, and accordingly had not made
her appearance down-stairs that morning. The gallery leading to her room
was dark and lonely, and I grew more nervous as I approached; I paused at
the door, making up my mind to knock.

But the door opened suddenly,