ine attempted to make
excuses. Emily's generous nature passed over the cruel persistency
that had tortured her. "No no; I have nothing to forgive. It isn't your
fault. Other girls have not mothers and brothers and sisters--and get
reconciled to such a loss as mine. Don't make excuses."

"Yes, but I want you to know that I feel for you," Francine insisted,
without the slightest approach to sympathy in face, voice, or manner.
"When my uncle died, and left us all the money, papa was much shocked.
He trusted to time to help him."

"Time has been long about it with me, Francine. I am afraid there is
something perverse in my nature; the hope of meeting again in a better
world seems so faint and so far away. No more of it now! Let us talk of
that good creature who is asleep on the other side of you. Did I tell
you that I must earn my own bread when I leave school? Well, Cecilia
has written home and found an employment for me. Not a situation as
governess--something quite out of the common way. You shall hear all
about it."

In the brief interval that had passed, the weather had begun to change
again. The wind was as high as ever; but to judge by the lessening
patter on the windows the rain was passing away.

Emily began.

She was too grateful to her friend and school-fellow, and too deeply
interested in her story, to notice the air of indifference with which
Francine settled herself on her pillow to hear the praises of Cecilia.
The most beautiful girl in the school was not an object of interest to a
young lady with an obstinate chin and unfortunately-placed eyes.
Pouring warm from the speaker's heart the story ran smoothly on, to the
monotonous accompaniment of the moaning wind. By fine degrees Francine's
eyes closed, opened and closed again. Toward the latter part of the
narrative Emily's memory became, for the moment only, confused between
two events. She stopped to consider--noticed Francine's silence, in an
interval when she might have said a word of encouragement--and looked
closer at her. Miss de Sor was asleep.

"She might have told me she was tired," Emily said to herself quietly.
"Well! the best thing I can do is to put out the light and follow her
example."

As she took up the extinguisher, the bedroom door was suddenly opened
from the outer side. A tall woman, robed in a black dressing-gown, stood
on the threshold, looking at Emily.

CHAPTER III. THE LATE MR. BROWN.

The woman's lean, long-fingered