me in the boat.

A short time ago, Irene had insisted on locking her door, and on one
occasion had managed through utter carelessness to set fire to a
curtain. Her own bravery had quenched the flames before any mischief was
done; but the household had been alarmed, the room forcibly burst open,
and the child, whose arm was badly burned, was carried fainting from the
room. After that Lady Jane removed all keys and bolts from the door, and
no entreaties on Irene's part could induce her to have them put back.

On this lovely summer's morning Lady Jane was eating her delicate
breakfast in her usual delicate way. Her thoughts were divided between
her husband, whom she would never see again in this world, and the child
whom she could not manage. She was also thinking of Rosamund, the
daughter of her dear friend.

A servant came in with the letter-bag. Lady Jane never had any special
correspondence, and she was in no hurry to open it; but having quite
consumed her breakfast, she thought she might as well do so. She
therefore languidly took a key from her chatelaine, inserted it into the
lock, and took out the contents. She found amongst many other letters
one from her old friend, Rosamund's mother.

Mrs. Cunliffe wrote to say that she was glad Lady Jane liked Rosamund,
and gave her hearty consent to Rosamund's spending a good deal of her
time at Lady Jane's house.

"I may as well tell you," continued the mother, "that Rosamund herself
is somewhat difficult to manage. I have always found her so; but
hitherto nothing has gone very wrong between us, because I have led her
by the golden rule of love. I have never driven her in any respect. I
heard a great deal of the Merrimans, the dear Professor, whose books are
so well known, and the charming little school they proposed to open; and
when I found that the school was in your neighborhood, my dear old
friend, I decided to send Rosamund there. I am writing now to Professor
and Mrs. Merriman to say that I wish Rosamund to spend as much time as
ever she can spare at your house and in the company of your sweet little
girl. By the way, you have told me nothing about her. She must be about
twelve years old now. Rosamund, dear child, is fifteen. I can fancy what
a comfort the little Irene must be to her mother, so gentle and sweet,
just like what that mother was when I was a somewhat wild and erratic
girl myself."

"Alas and alack!" thought poor Lady Jane, "how very little my dear