till you have complied with the rules."

"Are they _your_ rules?"

Her eyes expressed the readiest submission--in that case. He entirely
failed to see it: he said they were Miss Ladd's rules--and wished her
good-evening.

She watched him, walking away down the terrace. How was he paid? Did he
receive a yearly salary, or did he get a little extra money for each
new pupil who took drawing lessons? In this last case, Francine saw her
opportunity of being even with him "You brute! Catch me attending your
class!"

CHAPTER XXXIII. RECOLLECTIONS OF ST. DOMINGO.

The night was oppressively hot. Finding it impossible to sleep, Francine
lay quietly in her bed, thinking. The subject of her reflections was a
person who occupied the humble position of her new servant.

Mrs. Ellmother looked wretchedly ill. Mrs. Ellmother had told Emily that
her object, in returning to domestic service, was to try if change would
relieve her from the oppression of her own thoughts. Mrs. Ellmother
believed in vulgar superstitions which declared Friday to be an unlucky
day; and which recommended throwing a pinch over your left shoulder, if
you happened to spill the salt.

In themselves, these were trifling recollections. But they assumed a
certain importance, derived from the associations which they called
forth.

They reminded Francine, by some mental process which she was at a loss
to trace, of Sappho the slave, and of her life at St. Domingo.

She struck a light, and unlocked her writing desk. From one of the
drawers she took out an old household account-book.

The first page contained some entries, relating to domestic expenses, in
her own handwriting. They recalled one of her efforts to occupy her idle
time, by relieving her mother of the cares of housekeeping. For a day or
two, she had persevered--and then she had ceased to feel any interest in
her new employment. The remainder of the book was completely filled
up, in a beautifully clear handwriting, beginning on the second page. A
title had been found for the manuscript by Francine. She had written at
the top of the page: _Sappho's Nonsense_.

After reading the first few sentences she rapidly turned over the
leaves, and stopped at a blank space near the end of the book. Here
again she had added a title. This time it implied a compliment to the
writer: the page was headed: _Sappho's Sense_.

She read this latter part of the manuscript with the closest attention.

"I entreat