e said calmly;
"you would make your fortune on the stage. Unfortunately, however, I
am not easily deceived. You know perfectly well the prize essay is no
work of yours."

"Whose then?" in a voice of suppressed passion; and the quiet, mocking
tones answered,--

"Suspicions are easily roused, and when one can disobey a parent once,
one can easily do so again."

Winnie looked bewildered. "You are speaking in riddles," she cried
angrily; "I demand a proper explanation."

"Then you shall have it," replied Ada, spitefully enjoying her
momentary triumph. "Mrs. Elder, Miss Smith, and ever so many of the
girls believe that your wonderful Miss Latimer assisted with your
essay. Nay, do not interrupt: we give you credit for the bare outline,
but the originality and quaint rich thoughts are decidedly beyond the
powers of a dunce."

Winnie listened in amazement, and as the last words fell slowly from
the lips of the cold, haughty girl, she cried out in her bitter anger,--

"It is false! false! and you know that too; but, Ada Irvine, I can
almost excuse your insulting words. It must be humiliating to see a
dunce, and one towards whom you bear so much affection, win a prize of
which you deemed yourself secure. I forgive you when I think how hard
it must be to feel yourself the laughing-stock of the school; and I
would remind you in the future to value your talents at their true
worth."

Winnie paused, and it seemed, to use a common-place phrase, as if the
tables were turned; for the little girl looked cool and calm now, while
her adversary's face was white and set with passion. Springing forward
she raised her hand, and Winnie, in order to avert the blow, stepped
back, forgetful of her dangerous position. Then rang through the house
a wild scream followed by the sound of a heavy fall; and the startled
inmates, gathering from various quarters, found lying at the foot of
the steep stairs a prostrate figure with white upturned face and
firmly-closed eyes.

[Illustration: A prostrate figure with white, upturned face.]

CHAPTER XV.

HOW SHALL I LIVE THROUGH THE LONG, LONG YEARS?

A balmy summer morning in the month of July. Outside, and far up
overhead, a dappled sky shining down on a world of light and beauty;
green verdant slopes and wide sweeps of meadowland glistening still
with the early dew; flowers blossoming everywhere, from the modest
daisy and golden buttercup to the queenliest rose and fairest lily;