indeed was Francine, accompanied by one of the teachers at the school.
She took a seat on the bench outside the booking-office, in a state of
sullen indifference--absorbed in herself--noticing nothing. Urged by
ungovernable curiosity, Mrs. Ellmother stole on tiptoe to Alban's side
to look at her. To a person acquainted with the circumstances there
could be no possible doubt of what had happened. Francine had failed to
excuse herself, and had been dismissed from Miss Ladd's house.

"I would have traveled to the world's end," Mrs. Ellmother said, "to see
_that!_"

She returned to her place in the waiting-room, perfectly satisfied.

The teacher noticed Alban, on leaving the booking-office after taking
the tickets. "I shall be glad," she said, looking toward Francine, "when
I have resigned the charge of that young lady to the person who is to
receive her in London."

"Is she to be sent back to her parents?" Alban asked.

"We don't know yet. Miss Ladd will write to St. Domingo by the next
mail. In the meantime, her father's agent in London--the same person
who pays her allowance--takes care of her until he hears from the West
Indies."

"Does she consent to this?"

"She doesn't seem to care what becomes of her. Miss Ladd has given her
every opportunity of explaining and excusing herself, and has
produced no impression. You can see the state she is in. Our good
mistress--always hopeful even in the worst cases, as you know--thinks
she is feeling ashamed of herself, and is too proud and self-willed to
own it. My own idea is, that some secret disappointment is weighing on
her mind. Perhaps I am wrong."

No. Miss Ladd was wrong; and the teacher was right.

The passion of revenge, being essentially selfish in its nature, is
of all passions the narrowest in its range of view. In gratifying her
jealous hatred of Emily, Francine had correctly foreseen consequences,
as they might affect the other object of her enmity--Alban Morris. But
she had failed to perceive the imminent danger of another result,
which in a calmer frame of mind might not have escaped discovery. In
triumphing over Emily and Alban, she had been the indirect means of
inflicting on herself the bitterest of all disappointments--she had
brought Emily and Mirabel together. The first forewarning of this
catastrophe had reached her, on hearing that Mirabel would not return
to Monksmoor. Her worst fears had been thereafter confirmed by a letter
from Cecilia, which