Chapter V: Part 5

She started back with an exclamation of surprise and terror as Miss Worth tottered in with a face white even to the lips, and sank speechless into the nearest chair.

"What is it? what is it?" cried Mildred hastening to bring a glass of water, and hold it to her lips.

The governess swallowed a mouthful, seemingly with some difficulty, then putting it aside with her hand, "Don't be alarmed," she whispered, "I shall be over it in a moment. But it was such a shock; oh, how could he--how could he be so wicked!"

She ended with a burst of weeping.

Mildred's sympathies were fully aroused; laying her precious letter carefully away for future perusal, she gave herself to the task of soothing and comforting the poor distracted woman.

Miss Worth told her story brokenly, still concealing the nature of the tie that connected her with the pseudo count.

Her letter, from her sister, Mrs. Marks, told of the return to America of their scape-grace brother, that he had paid them a flying visit weeks ago, and gone again, they knew not whither, and that shortly after his departure there had come to them a young, pretty Italian peasant woman, who claimed to be his wife; showing in proof thereof, some trinkets which they recognized as having belonged to him, a marriage certificate, and a baby boy, who was his image.

Miss Worth simply stated to Mildred the facts in regard to the note she had picked up and that her letter had brought certain intelligence that Juliet's admirer had already a living wife.

"Oh, dreadful!" cried Mildred, "now surely you will warn her once more?"

"Yes, I will; though doubtless she will refuse to believe it of him."

"But she will not, she cannot be so infatuated as to go on and elope with him without full proof that the story of his marriage is false."

"I do not know that: she is so supremely silly. But Miss Mildred, I must see her alone, and how am I to manage it? I have only to-day."

Mildred looked thoughtful. "I don't see how yet, but I must contrive to make an opportunity for you," she said; and after a little more talk about ways and means, mingled with some words of sympathy and hope from the younger to the older girl, they parted; Mildred going down to luncheon, Miss Worth to her own room.

Half an hour later Mildred joined her there with a face that told of good news before she opened her lips.

"Aunt Dinsmore thinks uncle may be home to-night," she said, "and I noticed Juliet did not seem pleased to hear it. She asked how soon, and aunt said probably not before half past one or two o'clock; as the train gets into the city about midnight and he must drive over from there.

"Then aunt proposed that we four ladies should take a drive this afternoon, and Reba and I accepted her invitation at once, but Juliet declined, saying she was tired and would find more enjoyment in a novel and the sofa."

"She stays at home to make her preparations," said Miss Worth.

"Just what I think; and this will be your opportunity," returned Mildred. "Is it not fortunate? Now I must go and leave you to improve it. The carriage will be at the door in a few moments."

Miss Worth sat down by her window to watch for it, and as soon as it had driven quite out of sight went quietly to Juliet's door and knocked.

There was no answer though she could hear some one moving softly about the room.

She waited a moment, then rapped again a little louder than before.

Still no notice was taken, the quiet footfalls and slight rustle of silken garments continuing as before.

But she persisted, repeating her knocks at short intervals and with increasing force till at length the key was turned hastily in the lock and the door thrown open, showing Juliet's fair face crimson with passion.

"Will you cease that racket?" she began, then starting back at sight of the pale determined face, "_You!_" she cried, "is it _you_? How dare you?" and she would have slammed the door in the face of her unwelcome visitor, but Miss Worth was too quick for her, and holding it forcibly open, slipped in, pushed it to, turned the key, and facing the girl who stood spell-bound with astonishment and fury, said.

"I will not apologize for my seemingly rude behavior, since you have compelled me to it, and it is only for your own sake that I intrude upon you."

"Leave this room instantly!" was the passionate rejoinder, "instantly, do you hear?" stamping her foot with rage.

"Not till I have done my errand and cleared my skirts of your ruin, if you are still so infatuated as to rush upon it," returned the governess quietly, folding her arms and placing her back against the door.

"I have already told you the man who seeks your hand is a deceiver, a spurious nobleman, a mere fortune hunter--"

"Stop!" cried Juliet, interrupting her with fury in her tones and again stamping her foot, "stop! and leave this room or I will summon the servants to put you out."

"No, you will not do that," Miss Worth returned with a contemptuous smile, "you will not want them to hear what I have to tell of your adorer, or rather the adorer of your wealth--and I will not go till I have finished what I came to say."

"You think to rob me of him," sneered Juliet, "but you are mistaken. You are too old and ugly. If he ever fancied you it is all past; he can never do so again. But I can't believe you were ever really pretty, for you are as ugly as sin now."

"Thank you," the governess answered with irony. "I rejoice to learn that you think sin ugly, for it is a sin for you to allow this man to play the lover to you, and it would be a dreadful sin for you to marry him; not only because of the entire disapproval of your parents but," she added with strong emphasis, "because he _already has a wife_."

For a moment Juliet was struck dumb with astonishment, but recovering herself, "I don't believe it!" she cried, her cheek crimsoning, her eyes flashing. "I don't believe a word of it; and if I did I'd marry him all the same," she added, grinding her teeth. "I would, for I love him, I love him! and you needn't tell me he's a villain!"

"Marry him! the ceremony would be a mere farce, and you a--not a wife; for you could not be that while she lives who is his lawful, wedded wife."

Miss Worth spoke with slow distinctness, her eyes fixed severely upon Juliet's face.

The latter started back as if stung, then resuming her haughty, defiant air, "How dare you!" she repeated, "What is he to you? and what proof can you bring of all that you assert against him?"

"What he is to me does not concern you," said Miss Worth, "My knowledge of his marriage was gained to-day by a letter from his sister; but if I should show it to you, you would of course ask how you were to know that he was the man referred to, or that she was a reliable witness. No, I can prove nothing; but if you are wise you will require proof that he is--a man who has a right to offer you his hand; who can make you his lawful wife; and whom to marry will not be ruin."

"Then I am not wise. Now go!"

"I obey you since my errand is now done," returned the governess with a stately bow, as she unlocked the door and threw it wide open.

Stepping into the hall she faced her antagonist again for an instant. "If you will persist in this madness, on your own head be your ruin; my skirts are clear," she said, and swept proudly away.

It cost Mildred quite an effort to give due attention to Reba's chatter and the small talk of her aunt, during the hour or more of their drive, her thoughts being very full of the interview then in progress between Miss Worth and Juliet.

On reaching home she repaired directly to the room of the former to hear an account of it.

This the governess gave in detail, concluding with, "You see, Miss Keith, it is just as I expected; she will not hear reason, she will take no warning, she is fully bent upon carrying out this mad freak, and if we save her, it will be in spite of herself."

"Yes; and we have but little time to consider how we shall do it," said Mildred. "What is your plan?"

"To go myself, a little before his appointed hour, to meet and warn him away, while you remain in the house and on the watch to prevent her from leaving it to join him. Are you willing to undertake that, Miss Mildred?"

"Yes; to the best of my ability. I will rouse the whole house if necessary to prevent her from getting away with him."

"Thank you," Miss Worth said earnestly. "Miss Keith, I am very sorry to have to call upon you for this assistance, for it will involve the loss of your night's rest. But Mr. Dinsmore being unfortunately away--"

"Don't speak of it," interrupted Mildred impulsively; "it is a very small sacrifice on my part, for I am well and pretty strong again; but you look wretchedly ill."

"Never mind me, I shall be better when this is over," Miss Worth answered with a faint smile.

"I will leave you to lie down and rest," Mildred said, rising to go; "and can't you sleep through the early part of the night, if I am on guard and ready to wake you at midnight?"

The governess shook her head. "I cannot sleep till this is over. But it will tend to lull Juliet's suspicions if you will retire at your usual early hour, and let me call you when the appointed hour draws near."

"It is a wise thought, and we will do so," Mildred said. "And now I must go and dress for dinner. Try not to be so very anxious. I do believe it will all turn out well," she added hopefully, as she left the room.

Chapter Sixteenth.

"Muse not that I thus suddenly proceed;
For what I will, I will, and there's an end."
--Shakespeare.

There were guests from the neighborhood at both dinner and tea, some of whom remained during the evening.

Juliet was unusually gay and sprightly, but to Mildred, who watched her furtively, her unwonted mirthfulness seemed to cover other and deeper feelings. There were signs of agitation, perhaps unnoticed by a casual observer, a nervous tremor, a hectic flush on her cheek, a slight start at some sudden noise, or an unexpected address.

She was thrumming on the piano and shrieking out an air from a popular opera, at the top of her voice, when at ten o'clock, Mildred slipped quietly away to her own room.

Merely exchanging her evening dress for a neat dressing gown, Mildred threw herself upon a couch to await Miss Worth's summons, and contrary to her expectations, presently fell into a sound sleep.

She was awakened by a touch on the shoulder and started up to find the governess standing by her side.

"Will you come now?" she asked in low, agitated tones. "It is half past twelve, and I must start out at once."

"Yes, I am quite ready," Mildred answered, and wrapping a shawl about her shoulders, followed the lead of the governess.

A window on the landing of the principal staircase, down which Juliet would be likely to pass, was on the same side of the house with the one under which the signal was to be given.

There could be no better post of observation, and here Mildred seated herself, upon the broad sill, while her companion, parting from her with a whispered word of mingled thanks, caution and entreaty, glided down the stairs and let herself out at a side door, using extreme caution to make no noise.

Thence she gained the avenue, and beyond that the road. Here she paused and hesitated. She was not sure from which direction her brother would come; but she must make a choice.

She did so and crept onward, keeping a narrow foot-path that ran parallel with the road, and between it and a hedge that enclosed the lawn and adjacent orchard.

Left thus alone, Mildred sat still, her heart beating fast with excitement and timidity, for the house was dark and silent almost as the grave.

But she bethought herself of Him to whom the night shineth as the day, and darkness and light are both alike, and with the thought grew calm and quiet. She was in the path of duty, and need fear no evil, because He was with her.

Yet the waiting time seemed long. How would it end? If Miss Worth were successful, only in her stealthy return; otherwise probably with the signal and then a struggle between Juliet and herself.

She had begun to breathe more freely with the thought that the time for that must have passed, and was straining her ear to catch the faint sound of Miss Worth's approach, when the loud hoot of an owl from the shrubbery beneath the window, broke the silence with a suddenness that nearly startled her from her seat, and set her heart to throbbing wildly again.

She pressed her hand against her side to still it, while she bent forward, listening intently for some answering sound from above.

A moment of utter stillness, then a slight creak, as of a door opened with extreme care, followed by other slight sounds as though some one were stealing softly down the hall, and Mildred slipped from her perch and back into the shadow of the wall, almost holding her breath for what was to come.

The stealthy step drew nearer; something was gliding past her when, with a quick movement, she stepped before, and threw her arms around it--a tall, slight figure muffled in a cloak.

There was a low, half stifled cry, then a struggle for release.

"Unhand me," muttered Juliet in a tone of intense, but suppressed fury. "Is there no limit to your insolent interference?"

"Juliet, it is I!" whispered Mildred, not relaxing her hold in the least. "I only want to save you from falling a prey to a villain who is after your money, would ruin you to get it: for he already has a wife."

"I don't believe a word of it! Let me go, let me go, I say!" and wrenching herself free she dealt Mildred a blow that sent her staggering against the wall.

But she recovered herself instantly and sprang after Juliet, who was gliding down the stairs toward the lower hall.

She caught her as they reached the hall below.

"Juliet, Juliet, are you mad?" she panted; "will you forsake all you love--all that life holds dear for that scoundrel?"

"What business is it of yours?" demanded Juliet fiercely, and trying with all her strength to shake her off. "I tell you I will not be prevented by you or anybody. Let go of me, I say, or I will do you a mischief."

"I will not let you go," returned Mildred. "Come back or I will call aloud and rouse the house." What would have happened it is impossible to tell, had not help come at that precise moment.

A carriage had driven up to the front entrance, the rumble of its wheels sending the cowardly villain in the shrubbery flying to the adjacent woods.

The girls, in the excitement of their struggle, had not heard its approach, but the sudden opening of the front door, and the sound of Mr. Dinsmore's step and voice as he entered, accompanied by his body servant, to whom he was giving some order as to the disposal of his luggage, caused them to loose their hold of each other.

Juliet darted up the stairs, while Mildred dropped into a chair; her strength completely forsaking her with the withdrawal of the necessity for its exertion.

"Who is here?" demanded Mr. Dinsmore, his ear catching the rustle of Juliet's garments and the sound of Mildred's heavy breathing.

"Solon, strike a light instantly."

"It is I, uncle," panted Mildred, bursting into hysterical sobs.

"You, Mildred!" he exclaimed in utter astonishment as he recognized the voice. "Why, child, what on earth are you doing here at this time of night? All in the dark too. What has gone wrong? are you sick?"

Solon had struck a match and succeeded in lighting the hall lamp, and with Mr. Dinsmore's last question its rays fell full upon Mildred's face, showing it pale, agitated, and with eyes brimming with tears.

"Why, you are as white as a sheet!" he exclaimed, laying his hand affectionately on her shoulder. "Child, child, what is the matter?"

In a few rapid, rather incoherent sentences, she gave him an inkling of the state of affairs; to which he returned a volley of questions, and without waiting for an answer to any of them, "Out into the shrubbery, Solon," he commanded, "call Ajax and Pomp, to help; catch the rascal if you can, and bring him to me."

Then to Mildred, repeating his queries, "Where is Juliet!" he asked. "Where is Miss Worth? How does she come to know about the villain or his plot to carry off Juliet? what is he to her?"

"I don't know, sir, what he is to her," said Mildred, "but she says she has known him all his life, and a letter she received to-day told her of his marriage; that he has a living wife."

"He has? the scoundrel!" cried her listener.

"Yes sir; and of course, on learning that, Miss Worth was more than ever determined to frustrate his plans."

"Well, what more, and where is this precious fool of a Juliet? I wish all girls were blessed with your common sense, child."

"She ran up stairs as you came in, sir."

"And may have come down by the back stairway and made off with the rascal, after all!" he exclaimed in alarm. "Run up to her room, Milly, and see if she is there, while I look about below here."

Mildred went at once, though she would much rather have been excused; for the errand was no pleasant one; she was very reluctant to meet Juliet again at that moment; but fortunately was spared the necessity, as, on nearing the door of Juliet's sleeping room, she distinctly heard her voice in conversation with Reba.

She hurried down again with her report, which her uncle received with grim satisfaction.

"That is well," he said. "Now I'll join in the search for the scoundrel, and I promise you that if we catch him, he'll not get away unhurt. But where is Miss Worth, child? you have not answered that question yet."

As he spoke, a side door opened, and a tall black robed figure glided in.

"Miss Worth!" he exclaimed, catching sight of her face.

"Yes," she said in a hoarse whisper, leaning back against the wall, and looking ready to faint.

"You are ill," he said; "let me help you into the library and give you a glass of wine."

She hardly seemed to hear him. Her eyes were fixed in eager, terrified questioning upon Mildred's face.

"Juliet is in her room," the latter hastened to say.

"Thank God for that!" she said in quivering tones. "And he?"

"Is gone, I suppose. No one has seen him, as far as I know."

At that moment one of the men put his head in at the door. "Can't find the rascal, massa; reckon he dun gone cl'ar off de place."

"Quite likely; but as he may return, you are to be on the watch till sunrise," was the reply.

"You didn't meet him?" Mildred asked, drawing near the governess, and speaking in an undertone.

"No; I must have taken the wrong road. Mr. Dinsmore, I owe you an explanation. Shall it be given now?"

The voice was very low, very tremulous, but the sad eyes were lifted unflinchingly to his stern face.

"As you please," he said, his features softening a little at sight of her distress. "You look hardly able to make it now, and some hours later will answer just as well. Indeed, I think we would all do well to go to our beds as soon as possible. But stay a moment."

He stepped into the dining-room, and returned with a glass of wine, which he offered to the governess, saying, "You look ready to faint; drink this, it will do you good."

"No, no, never," she cried, shuddering and recoiling as from a serpent; "it has been the ruin of those I love best."

"Very well," he said coldly, "Mildred, will you take it?"

"No, thank you, uncle; I do not need it and would rather not," the young girl answered pleasantly.

"Silly girl," he said, draining the glass himself. "Well, good night, ladies; or rather good morning. Miss Worth, I will see you in the library directly after breakfast."

So saying he left them.

"What a blessing that it has turned out so well," Mildred said to her companion.

"Has it?" queried the governess, in a bewildered tone, and putting her hand to her head. "I feel as though the earth were reeling beneath my feet. I can not think."

"Let me help you to your room; a few hours' rest will make all right again with you, I trust," Mildred said compassionately.

"Don't allow yourself to feel anxious or distressed," she went on, as she assisted her up the stairs. "I am sure uncle will not be hard with you when he learns how free from blame you are; Juliet has been saved, and he seems to have escaped, and will not be likely to try it again."

"Ah, if I could have met and warned him," sighed the governess.

"Surely it is better as it is, since he has got away without," reasoned Mildred: "for might he not have been angry and abusive?"

"True, too true!" she murmured, catching at the balusters to keep from falling; "yes, it is better so; but my brain reels and I cannot think."

Mildred was alarmed. "What can I do for you?" she asked.

"Nothing, nothing, but help me to my bed, thank you, I shall be better when I have slept off this horrible fatigue and weakness. Oh, such a tramp and weary waiting as it was!--out in the cold and darkness on a lonely road," she gasped shudderingly, as she sank down upon her bed. "It seemed as if I should drop down and die before I could get back to the house. And my terror for him! that was the worst of all!"

"I don't think he deserves your love and care for him!" Mildred said, her indignation waxing hot against the worthless villain.

"Perhaps not," she sighed, "but he loved me once, and he was a noble fellow then. And I--ah, he told me I had helped to ruin him!"

"But it wasn't true?" Mildred said in a tone of indignant inquiry.

Miss Worth did not seem to hear. "I shall do now," she said presently, "and you need rest. Do go to your bed, Miss Mildred. Perhaps I shall sleep if left alone."

Perceiving that she could be of no further assistance, Mildred went not unwillingly, for she too was quite worn out with fatigue and excitement.

It was eight o'clock when she woke, but she was ready for the summons to breakfast, which was not served that morning until near nine.

Juliet did not make an appearance at the meal. She was indisposed, Reba reported, and would take a cup of tea in her own room.

"The best place for her," commented Mr. Dinsmore shortly.

"What do you mean by that?" queried his wife, who had heard nothing of the occurrences of the past night.

"Just what I say and I hope she will have the grace to stay there till her father comes for her, as I requested him to do by this morning's mail."

"Mr. Dinsmore, _will_ you explain yourself?" exclaimed his wife in a tone of exasperation.

"It will not require many words," he answered drily. "She would have eloped with another woman's husband last night if she had not been hindered."

"Another woman's husband!" echoed Reba in astonishment and dismay--"I did not know it was so bad as that!"

"Dreadful! impossible!" cried Mrs. Dinsmore, dropping her knife and fork and bursting into tears. "Don't tell me a niece of mine could do such a thing as that! Mr. Dinsmore, it's a cruel joke."

"No joke at all," he said, "but the simple, unvarnished truth; though of course she refused to believe that the man was married."

"And who is the wretch?" cried his wife, grinding her teeth. "If you'd been half a man, you'd have shot him down!"

"I'm no murderer, madam," was the biting retort, "and in my opinion a cowhiding would much better befit so cowardly a scoundrel. I should have administered that with hearty good will, could I have laid hands on him."

"I wish you had!" she exclaimed with passionate vehemence. "I am glad you wrote for Mr. Marsden, and I hope he will come at once and take that shameful girl away before she does anything more to bring disgrace on the family. Reba, why did you let her do so?"

"I, Aunt Belle? I'm not in her confidence, and was as ignorant and innocent as yourself in regard to the whole thing."

"Who did hinder her? am I not to hear the whole story?" demanded Mrs. Dinsmore, turning to her spouse again.

"I presume it will all be unfolded to you in time," was the cool reply. "I have not heard it fully myself yet. Mildred here," and he looked pleasantly at her, "knows more about it than I do; and to her, I believe, our thanks are due for preventing the mischief."

"To Miss Worth, uncle, much more than to me," Mildred said, blushing and feeling decidedly uncomfortable under the surprised, scrutinizing glances of her aunt and Reba. "It was she who found it all out, tried to persuade Juliet to give it up, and when she failed in that, told me--"

"Told you!" interrupted Mrs. Dinsmore, with indignation. "Why did she not come to me instead? I was the proper person by all odds."

Mildred was at a loss for a reply that should not damage the cause of the governess; but Mr. Dinsmore came to her relief. "I presume, my dear, it was to save you from the mortification of hearing of your niece's contemplated folly, and her from that of having you made acquainted with it."

Chapter Seventeenth.

"Do not insult calamity:
It is a barbarous grossness to lay on
The weight of scorn, when heavy misery
Too much already weighs men's fortunes down."
--Daniel.

Returning to her room to don her riding habit, directly after breakfast, Mildred met Miss Worth on her way to the library to keep her appointment with Mr. Dinsmore.

"How pale and ill you look!" exclaimed Mildred.

"Ah, you would not wonder if you knew how I shrink from this interview," sighed the governess.

"I think you need not," Mildred answered kindly; then gave her the substance of the conversation at the table, in regard to the past night's occurrences, adding that her uncle's explanation of her probable motives had entirely appeased Mrs. Dinsmore's anger, and presumably he did not himself hold her in great disfavor.

"How very good in you to tell me, Miss Keith," the governess said, grateful tears springing to her eyes. "But I must not delay another moment, lest I keep him waiting."

She hastened on into the library, and was relieved to find it tenantless. Unpunctuality would not have helped her cause, and though the moments of waiting tried her already over-strained nerves, she was thankful that they had fallen to her lot rather than to his.

She had slept little, waking early, not greatly refreshed, and tormented with anxiety in regard to her brother's whereabouts, likelihood to renew his attempt to carry off Juliet, and danger of arrest on the old charges. This in addition to the care that came upon her every day:--the ever recurring question how she was to meet necessary expenses for herself and those dependent upon her.

Almost too weary to stand, yet too restless to remain quiet, she dropped into a chair for a moment, then rose and paced the floor, at last pausing beside the fire, and standing there with her right elbow on the mantel, her forehead in the open palm of her hand, her eyes cast down, while painful thought surged through her brain.

Thus Mr. Dinsmore found her, so absorbed in her meditations that she was not aware of his entrance until he coughed slightly to attract her attention. Then she came out of her reverie with a start.

"Excuse me, sir, but I was not aware that I was no longer alone."

"Time enough," he said; "and let me compliment you on being more punctual than myself. But you are not looking well or happy."

"No, sir; and I think you will hardly wonder that I do not, when you have heard what I am here to tell."

"Be seated," he said, waving his hand toward an easy chair, while taking possession of its fellow, "and let me hear what it is."

She seemed at a loss where to begin her story, and to help her he remarked interrogatively, "I presume you have no objection to explaining the cause of your mysterious nocturnal ramble?"

"No," she said, "I went to warn that man away from the house."

"Ah! yes, that may have been the better plan, as I was absent from home; but what puzzles me is to understand how you knew of his coming."

"I had picked this up in the hall," she said, handing him the little note.

"But how could it tell you so much, since it gives neither the name of the writer nor that of the person addressed?"

"The man's writing is perfectly familiar to me," she explained, growing a shade paler as she spoke; "I have known him intimately for years, and had learned from him his designs upon Miss Marsden."

"An intimate acquaintance of yours!" he exclaimed in astonishment. "Not one to be proud of, certainly. May I ask a further explanation? It is a matter of some consequence to know with what style of persons the instructress of my children associates."

"I know it; you have a perfect right to ask," she stammered, a crimson blush suffusing her cheek, hot tears rushing into the downcast eyes. "Oh, may you never know, Mr. Dinsmore, what it is to have those nearest and dearest bring shame and disgrace upon you!"

"A relative?" he asked. "Is he not a foreigner?"

She shook her head sorrowfully, and after a moment's struggle for composure, told him what the man was to her, how he had been led astray by love for the wine-cup, and the evil influence of an older villain; that he had left his country years ago, traveling his family knew not whither, and how unexpectedly she had recognized him in the pseudo Count of whom Juliet had become enamored; how she had entreated him to go away, and failing to persuade him, had made a fruitless appeal to Juliet, disclosing his real character and aims; but only to be scouted at and contemned as an envious rival; then had sought for him with the purpose of calling in his aid to save the wilful girl from the destruction she courted, and failing to find him had enlisted Mildred in the cause.

"Miss Marsden is a born simpleton!" he commented impatiently. "Well, Miss Worth, she owes a great deal to your good sense and right feeling. I, too, am obliged to you. I sympathize with you in the trial of having such a brother, and do not see that you have been at all to blame in this unfortunate matter; but rather the contrary.

"However, Mrs. Dinsmore is not always entirely reasonable in her views and requirements, and it is altogether likely would object longer receiving your services as governess to her children, if she knew of your relationship to this man. We will, therefore, keep that matter to ourselves."

So saying, he dismissed her and the subject together, with a wave of his hand; and she withdrew with one burden somewhat lightened.

For some days nothing special occurred at Roselands; Juliet kept to her own apartments; for the most part alone, or with no companionship but that of her maid; for Reba's strongly expressed disgust and indignation at her folly had sent her into a fit of the pouts, so that they had small relish for each other's society; and Mrs. Dinsmore, angry with her for the disgrace she had so nearly brought upon the family, would not go near her, nor allow any of the children to do so.

Mildred, too, stayed away, partly in obedience to a hint from her aunt, and partly because she did not suppose her company would be acceptable; she and Juliet having never been kindred spirits.

Meanwhile, Miss Worth still took her meals in the nursery with the younger children, doing so of choice, attended faithfully to her duties in the schoolroom, but was seldom seen at other times. Her light often burned far into the night, and day by day she grew thinner and paler her cheeks more sunken, her eyes more hollow, her step slower and more languid.

Mildred alone seemed to note the change, but to her kind inquiries the governess always answered that she was well, and that in a tone that did not encourage further inquiry or remark.

Mr. Marsden was slow in responding to Mr. Dinsmore's summons, but at length a letter was received, announcing his intention of starting on his journey two days after date, and requesting Mr. Dinsmore to keep a vigilant watch over Juliet until his arrival.

It had come by the mail, which, arriving in the city the previous night, was brought to Roselands by Pomp, in the morning.

Mr. Dinsmore opened it at the breakfast table, read it to himself, and with a satisfied smile, passed it on to his wife for her perusal, while he opened the newspaper, and leisurely glanced over its contents.

"Ah!" he exclaimed presently, with some excitement, "here is a bit of news. Listen!"

He read it aloud.

"Yesterday, a gentleman from Philadelphia, visiting in our city, met in the street, and recognized an old acquaintance, one Henry Worth, formerly of Philadelphia, who, some five years ago, fled thence to escape trial on a charge of forgery. Worth was of respectable family; his father had been a man of very considerable wealth, but had failed shortly before the commission of the crime; brought to ruin, it is said, by the excesses of this son.

"The young man has been leading a gay life of late, in the assumed character of a French nobleman--calling himself the Count De Lisle. The gentleman above referred to promptly reported his case to the police; he was arrested and is now safely lodged in prison; whence he will be sent north in a few days for trial."

"So it's all true--that he was a scoundrel!" cried Mrs. Dinsmore, "and his name's Worth! He's Miss Worth's brother! I know it! I'm sure of it! and that accounts for her knowing all about him. The wicked, deceitful thing to hide it as she has done, and impose herself--the sister of a convict--on me as governess to my children! I never heard of anything so shameful! I'll give her notice at once, and--"

"Why, my dear, what absurd folly!" exclaimed Mr. Dinsmore impatiently, angry with her for her unreasonable displeasure, and with himself for having inadvertently read out the name; "what difference does it make?"

"What difference, Mr. Dinsmore! are you crazy? You may consider paupers and convicts proper associates for your children, but they are not for mine, and that woman shall go."

"She is neither a pauper nor a convict," he said, "nor in the least responsible, so far as I have been able to learn, for the wrong doing of this man, whom, by the way, you do not know to be her brother; and if he is, I should think a woman's heart would feel for her in the terrible sorrow and disgrace of having such a relative."

"Papa, what is a convict?" asked Lora.

"One legally proved guilty of a crime," he said; "and, my dear, the term does not yet apply to the man himself, (much less to your governess) as he has not yet been brought to trial."

"It's all the same," she sneered, "for I haven't a doubt of his guilt. There, you needn't smile, as if I had said a foolish thing!"

"I wish you would not _do_ a foolish thing in sending away one so well qualified for her duties, and faithful in their performance, as Miss Worth, merely because she is so unfortunate as to bear the same name--possibly be nearly related to--a scamp."

"Dear me, papa, I think mamma is quite right," remarked Louise, with a toss of her head. "I'm sure I don't wish to be taught by such a person."

"When your opinion is desired, Louise, it will be called for," said her father severely. "In the meantime you may reserve it."

"Well, I mean to ask Miss Worth if that man is her brother?" muttered the child sullenly.

"You will do no such thing!" returned her father. "I will not have a word said to her about it."

At that his wife smiled significantly.

"It might be as well to show that paragraph to Juliet," she said, rising from the table. "Suppose you give me the paper."

"Do so, by all means," he replied, handing it to her.

"Mildred, here is something for Miss Worth. Will you see that she gets it?"

It, too, was a newspaper, and Mildred hoped compassionately, as she carried it up stairs, that it did not contain the item of distressing news for Miss Worth that her uncle had read from the other.

Mrs. Dinsmore had preceded her by several minutes, and her voice speaking in cold, cutting tones, came to the girl's ear, from the upper hall, as she set her foot upon the first stair.

"You must be aware that your services are no longer acceptable here," she was saying. "In fact you would never have been given the situation had I known of this disgraceful connection; and I must say I am justly indignant at the gross deception that has been practiced upon me."

"She must be speaking to Miss Worth; oh, what cruel words!" thought Mildred.

She had reached the landing, and turning to ascend the short flight above, caught sight of the speaker and the person addressed.

Miss Worth stood leaning against the wall, one hand clutching at the balustrade for support, her face deathly pale, and her lips trembling; Mrs. Dinsmore standing a few feet from her, gathering her dainty skirts close to her person as if fearful of contamination, her aristocratic nose high in the air, her countenance expressing scorn, contempt, and righteous indignation.

"What have you to say for yourself?" she demanded.

"Nothing, but that I am guiltless of any intentional wrong," the governess replied, lifting her head, and speaking in a tone of quiet despair, "and that I have faithfully performed my duties to the best of my ability."

"You don't deny, then, that this scoundrel, this felon--"

"Madame," interrupted the governess, her eyes flashing, while a bright red spot burned on each cheek, "he is not that, for he has never been convicted of, nor so much as brought to trial for any crime."

"Insolence!" exclaimed Mrs. Dinsmore. "Well, if he hasn't been yet, he soon will be, and get his deserts, I sincerely hope."

And picking up the newspaper, which seemed to have dropped from Miss Worth's nerveless hand, she swept on toward Juliet's apartments; in another moment had disappeared within them, shutting the door after her.

The fire had died out of Miss Worth's eye, the red had left her cheek, and she was swaying from side to side; only her hold on the balustrade keeping her from falling.

Mildred sprang toward her. "Lean on me," she said. "Let me help you to your room. Don't be so troubled; the Lord will take care of you and yours, if you put your trust in Him."

She did not know whether or not her words were heard and understood. The poor woman answered only with a heavy sigh and whispered, "Thank you. I shall be better soon. But oh, what will become of them all! my mother, my poor mother! He was her pride, her idol!"

Sympathetic tears streamed over Mildred's cheeks as she assisted her to her room.

"I'm to go away, Miss Mildred," she said, "turned off in disgrace for what is no fault of mine: no fault but my bitter, bitter sorrow! God help me and those dependent on me!"

"He will," Mildred answered chokingly; "He is so kind, so full of compassion; His tender mercies are over all his works!"

She stayed a little while trying to administer consolation, then putting the paper into Miss Worth's hands, merely saying that it had come by that morning's mail, she went away.

Finding Rachel busy in her room, she stepped back into the hall and stood for a few moments at the window there, looking out into the avenue below where Mr. Dinsmore was mounting his horse to make his daily morning round of the plantation.

Suddenly there was a sound in Miss Worth's room as of a heavy body falling to the floor.

Mildred ran to her door, and rushing in without the ceremony of knocking, found the poor governess stretched, apparently lifeless, upon the floor, the newspaper lying by her side.

Mildred's eye, as she stooped over the prostrate form, was caught by a paragraph that was heavily marked.

But the present was no time to examine it, and pushing the paper aside, she hastened to loosen the clothing of the fainting woman, at the same time giving directions to the two or three servants who had been attracted by the noise of the fall, and followed her into the room.

"Throw up that window, Minerva! Some cold water, Fanny, quick, quick! And you, Rachel, run to my room for my smelling salts."

"O, Miss Milly, is she done gone dead?" asked Fanny fearfully, as she sprinkled the water upon the still, white face.

"No, no; it's only a bad faint," Mildred answered, but her own heart quaked with fear as she spoke; the pinched features were so deathlike in their fixedness and pallor.

And spite of every effort they remained so till, nearly wild with terror, Mildred bade the servants summon other assistance.

"Call Mrs. Brown," she said. "Ask aunt if we shall not send for the doctor."

They hurried away to do her bidding, while she renewed her exertions, sending up silent, importunate petitions the while to her heavenly Friend.

They were answered; Miss Worth sighed deeply, opened her eyes and lifted them to the young face bent over her, with a look of such hopeless, heart-breaking anguish, that the girl burst into sobs and tears.

"Oh, what is it? what is it?" she said.

"He--he was my husband--and--and I _loved him_," came in a hoarse whisper from the colorless lips, and with the last word she swooned again.

"She has lost her reason," thought Mildred. "Poor, poor thing! oh, perhaps it may be better for her if she never comes to herself again."

Chapter Eighteenth.

"Never morning wore
To evening, but some heart did break."
--Tennyson.

They brought the housekeeper and the family physician. The latter pronounced the patient very ill, and with good reason; for she passed out of one swoon only to fall into another, till they thought that her end was surely near at hand.

However after some hours the immediate danger seemed over and the doctor left, promising to return before night.

Mrs. Dinsmore had been awed and frightened into something slightly akin to terror and remorse on account of her excessive harshness, but now shook it off.

"Really she takes her dismissal very hard," she remarked to Mildred as the latter was leaving the dinner table. "I had no idea she was so much attached to Roselands."

"I do not think it could be that alone, aunt," Mildred returned in surprise and disgust.

"What then?"

"Her relative's disgrace; the poverty and distress to herself and a mother and sister dependent on her, consequent on being thrown out of employment."

Then with a sudden recollection of that paper with its marked paragraph, Mildred hastened from the room and went in search of it.

The patient had fallen asleep, Rachel watching at her side.

A glance showed Mildred the paper folded and laid upon the table. She opened it cautiously, found the article she sought and read it.

"A case of lynching occurred in one of the southern counties of Texas, about two weeks ago. A man named Joseph White, said to be from one of the Northern States, suspected of horse stealing, was taken by a posse of some forty armed men, carried into the woods and hung. He was given ten minutes to prepare for death; died bravely, protesting his innocence to the last; but of course nobody believed him, as the proof against him was strong."

Sick and faint with horror, Mildred laid down the paper and dropped, shuddering, into a chair. Oh, this was worse than all! If he was that poor woman's husband, and she loved him, no wonder news so dreadful, and coming at such a time as this, should bring her down to the very gates of death.

The girlish heart was filled with a great compassion for the poor stricken creature, a great longing to comfort her in her grief and desolation.

"She will not live, she cannot," she whispered to herself; "I should not wish to were I in her place; for oh, it is so horrible, so horrible! How can men be such savages as to take human life to atone for the loss of an animal! and that perhaps the life of an innocent man?"

"I should be loath to assume your responsibility in this matter," remarked Mr. Dinsmore to his wife, as Mildred left them lingering over their dessert.

"Why?" she demanded, bridling; "did _I_ cause the ruin of her brother or the poverty of the family?"

"You seem to have added to that last burden; thus supplying the one drop that makes the cup overflow."

"I only did my duty to my children," she retorted angrily.

"I cannot see it," he said; "the children have improved very much in the two years that she has been with us."

"And of course all the credit of that belongs to her! there is none at all due to me. I often wonder, Mr. Dinsmore, how you came to marry a woman for whom you entertain so little admiration or respect."

"That is hardly a fair inference from what I have said," he rejoined in a tone of weariness and disgust; for she had tried his patience not a little that day with her whims and follies.

He rose with the last word and withdrew to the library. He was sitting before the fire in his easy chair, seemingly lost in thought, when the door opened softly and Mildred glided across the room and stood at his side.

As he looked up he saw that her features were working with emotion, her eyes full of tears.

"What is it?" he asked, in a startled tone; "she's not gone, I hope?"

Mildred shook her head, and with a burst of tears and a whispered "I could almost wish she was if--if I was quite sure she was prepared," pointed significantly to the marked paragraph in the paper which she held before him.

He read it, and then looked up at her with an inquiring "Well?" upon which Mildred told her reasons for connecting that item of news with Miss Worth's sudden seizure, repeating the words gasped out by the pale, trembling lips of the governess on her partial restoration to consciousness.

"I thought then that her mind wandered," concluded Mildred, "but since reading this, I fear her words were only too true."

"Poor thing!" he sighed. "I'm afraid she knows by sad experience all that she rescued Juliet from. Well, Milly, we will do the best we can for her. And, child, don't distress yourself unnecessarily. It will do her no good, you know."

"You are always kind and thoughtful for me, uncle," she responded gratefully, "but this seems no time to be considering myself. Do you know what the doctor thinks of her?"

"He told me that the attack must have been occasioned by some severe mental shock coming upon an exhausted frame. What she has had to exhaust her I don't know--her duties were light enough, I supposed--but the shock I took to have been the arrest of her brother. It would seem, however, from this, that a far more terrible one was superadded."

"Yes," Mildred said, shuddering. "Oh, my heart bleeds for her. But how strange that she is married? Why should she have kept it so profound a secret? going back to her maiden name?"

"That I cannot tell," Mr. Dinsmore answered; "but probably it was a clandestine and unfortunate affair, and she wished to avoid unpleasant explanations. We will say nothing about it to your aunt, as it would only increase her displeasure against the unhappy woman?"

"Ah, uncle," Mildred said musingly, "how little idea I have had hitherto of the dreadful distress that comes into some lives! I begin to think myself a very fortunate mortal."

"It is well to learn to appreciate our blessings," he returned with a smile that had little of mirth in it; for he was thinking with concern of the condition and prospects of the stranger within his gates.

"I must ask Dr. Barton whether she is likely to be long ill," he said, thinking aloud rather than addressing Mildred, "that we may make arrangements accordingly. And I think we should show him this," indicating the fatal news item.

"It is her secret," Mildred suggested doubtfully.

"True, my dear, but physicians have often to be entrusted with the secrets of their patients and Dr. Barton is a safe depository for such things."

Mrs. Dinsmore was impatient for Dr. Barton's opinion, very impatient over the unfortunate circumstances of the serious seizure of the governess underneath her roof; for she entertained an utter detestation of sickness and death, and was always ready to fly from them at a moment's warning; whatever might be the character of the illness, she insisted there was danger of contagion, and saw it to be clearly her duty to take care of herself by running away.

She spent the afternoon in overseeing the packing of trunks, that she might be prepared for any emergency; then anxiously awaited the doctor's report.

It was her husband who brought it to her at last, late in the evening. He had been closeted for a quarter of an hour with the physician, and now came into his wife's boudoir with a countenance full of grave concern.

"Well, what is it? what does Dr. Barton say?" she queried fretfully, "I thought you would never come back to tell me."

"He fears there is little hope of recovery," her husband answered gravely, pacing slowly to and fro with the air of one who is seriously disturbed.

"And is she going to be sick long?"

"It may be for some weeks, he cannot tell certainly."

"Can she be moved?"

"Moved? What occasion for that? The room she occupies now is comfortable; is it not?"

"Dear me, Mr. Dinsmore, you can be very stupid! I want to know if she can't be sent to the village to a hotel or boarding house. It isn't at all pleasant to think of her dying here. I don't want any haunted rooms in my house."

He paused in his walk, and stood looking at her in amazement, that presently gave place to an expression of extreme chagrin and disgust.

"Isabella!" he exclaimed, "are you utterly heartless? utterly destitute of womanly compassion for the helpless and suffering?"

"Of course I'm not," she said, resorting to tears, as was her wont when at a loss for better weapons of defence. "I'm sure she could be made very comfortable there, and I spared the necessity of being turned out of my own home in the depth of winter. But you can think of everybody's comfort and happiness except your wife's; _it_ isn't of the least consequence, and never will be."

"Really," he said, "I do not know what you are talking about. I certainly have not proposed your leaving home, and cannot see the slightest necessity for your doing so."