"This is a most extraordinary intrusion, Miss Neville," said she rising.

Then added sarcastically, "to what fortunate circ.u.mstance am I to ascribe the pleasure of your company?"

"No fortunate circ.u.mstance," replied Amy, almost as proudly, "has induced me to come here."

"Perhaps unfortunate, then," suggested Frances, in the same tone, still standing, and never asking her visitor to sit down.

"You are right," said Amy, quietly.

But this quietness enraged Frances, predisposed as she was to quarrel with her, and inwardly hating her, as she did; so she answered, angrily--

"And do you suppose I have nothing better to do than to listen to unfortunate circ.u.mstances, related by unfortunate people; for I suppose you are come with some absurd story. I care nothing for you or yours, and have no wish to listen to anything you have to say," and turning away, as rudely as she had spoken, Frances once more seated herself at the table, and desired Jane, who had been looking on in astonishment, to go on with her hair.

"But you _must_ listen," replied Amy firmly, her eyes flashing at Frances' insulting tones and speech. "I have something to tell you,--an explanation to give,--a circ.u.mstance to explain; indeed you must listen."

Frances mused.

"Must listen," she repeated presently. "If that is all, pray talk on; as to whether I answer or no remains to be seen. No one ever yet compelled me to do aught against my will; therefore I advise Miss Neville,--determined as she seems,--to think twice before she puts me to the test. I must also state I am rather hurried, the dressing bell having rung long since."

And Frances carelessly wound the two long plaits Jane had plaited round her head.

"I have little to say; I shall not detain you long."

"Pray begin," said Frances. "Jane be more careful, that hair-pin hurts me. Well, Miss Neville?"

But Amy answered--

"What I have to say is for your ear alone; Jane cannot be present."

"I have no secrets from Jane; you need have no fear of her repeating anything she hears."

"Still, what I have to say, Miss Strickland, cannot be said before her."

"Really, Miss Neville, your conduct is most extraordinary, not to say presuming and impertinent. Jane is necessary to me, I cannot dress without her a.s.sistance. I am late as it is, and cannot send her away."

"If you will allow me, I will a.s.sist you."

"Well, I'm sure!" exclaimed Jane, who had been listening in secret wonderment to the fore-going conversation, and antic.i.p.ating the dismissal she was now about to receive. "Well, I'm sure! I'm the last woman in the world to wish to pry into other people's secrets. Thank G.o.d, I've none of my own to trouble me, and don't care who hears what _I_ say; and thank you, Miss Neville, for your good opinion of me," said she, with a slight bend, and, throwing the dress she held in her hand across the back of a chair, she marched indignantly from the room, taking care not to close the door behind her.

But Amy followed, and shut it, a proceeding that still more incensed her, as she had fully intended hearing something, if not all, of what pa.s.sed, and learning, if possible, what secret enmity there was, or ill feeling between the two; as, with all her cunning and quickness, for once Jane was at fault. "Never mind," thought she, as she proceeded in search of Mason, to whom to unburden her ill-treatment. "I've been beforehand with you, with all your caution, Miss Neville, and I'm much mistaken if Miss Frances likes you one whit better than I do, and that's a precious deal, I can tell you," and Jane laughed; "though I'm puzzled to know why she got on her proud horse so soon. Yes, I'm fairly puzzled; but I'll find out yet. All those airs and graces didn't come from what I told her. No, no; I must be awake, and keep my eyes open. I'm not so easily deceived. Shut the door as tight and close as you will--say your say, whisper your secret, yet, for all that, Jane will be up to it, and fathom it out."

Amy and Frances were alone.

How different were the thoughts and feelings of both!

Declining her companion's a.s.sistance in dressing, Frances seated herself in an easy chair by the fire, her feet in their rich worked slippers resting on a footstool; her small jewelled fingers playing impatiently with a small gold heart attached to a bracelet she wore round her smooth white arm, her eyes emitting from under their dark lashes looks of defiance and scorn--for Frances, as I have said, cared not to hide her feelings, or had not yet learnt the habit of doing so;--a determined expression about the corners of her mouth, as if she had fully made up her mind what course to pursue, and that neither argument nor persuasion should induce her to abandon it.

She sat looking like some empress, awaiting the victim about to be sacrificed or made to bend to her haughty will.

A faint idea as to what Amy's explanation would be arose in her mind, how should she take it? should she remain silent, or answer it, and so lead her on until her whole heart should be probed,--laid bare before her? yes, she would do the latter, would penetrate into the very secret recesses of her heart; find out what her thoughts were, and how much she cared or did not care for her cousin, and then gradually retreat when she had her at her mercy. "We," so she reasoned, "cannot both triumph--one must be defeated--one must fall--and that one must be Miss Neville."

Amy stood a little apart.

She, too, had a determined expression playing round the corners of her mouth, and her tall, graceful figure was drawn up proudly to its full height; yet there was softness, gentleness in the very way she stood, one small fair hand tightly clasped round the injured wrist, as it rested delicately on the back of the chair, as if to keep down some strong inward emotion with its tight grasp; there was pride--there might be a touch of haughtiness, too--for she was but a poor weak mortal, but there was no anger, no defiance, no doggedness about Amy's looks. Her clear dark grey eye quailed not beneath her companion's hard cold gaze, it flashed as brightly, but there was neither malice, nor hatred, nor revenge in it; all was soft and womanly, though had opportunity offered or occasion required it, it might have returned scorn for scorn.

The two young girls were alone.

Yet both remained silent; perhaps both feared to be the first to speak, or wished her companion might break the silence becoming every moment more painful and embarra.s.sing.

Twice Frances turned her head impatiently, but meeting Amy's steady gaze, her eyelids dropped and again she leant back in the soft cushioned chair, and played with the locket as though she could not rest quiet: if her lips were silent her hands must be employed--she must appear careless and unconcerned, and uninterested in what was to follow.

Amy never attempted to move or speak. There she stood gazing at Frances, but seemingly engrossed by other thoughts, for a close observer might have detected a slight, almost imperceptible trembling of the under lip, and a nervous twitching of the fair fingers of the left hand as it rested softly on the other.

At length, stooping as though to brush something off her wrapper, Frances spoke.

"Well, Miss Neville, how long is this farce to last, this silence continue? I have already intimated my wish to be alone, and that I do not care to be troubled with anything you may have to say; yet, hurried as I am, you seem to take little heed as to the length of time you detain me. Have the kindness to begin and end quickly."

Amy started. Her thoughts had been far away. Once again she had gone over in thought all those pleasant, joyous days, when the world seemed all so fair and bright, and the days had flown too quickly by; and at night, she had slept the sleep of happiness and peace, without a thought for the morrow, save to find or try and make it as happy as the one that had gone before.

Ah! how many days had fled since then; how many sorrows and trials had she seen and experienced. Each day now was but a sad counterpart of the yesterday that had been, no bright looking forward, no trembling certainty of happiness; all seemed drear, and the future a blank to her troubled mind.

Again Frances spoke.

This time her voice was firm, though she still steadily avoided meeting Amy's gaze.

"When is this wonderful explanation to take place, Miss Neville? If you have changed your mind about it, pray say so at once, that I may call Jane, and continue my dressing."

"Miss Strickland," began Amy, falteringly, for Frances' cruel manner had made her even more nervous than when she entered the room; "you must have guessed, you must be aware that--that--"

But instead of helping her, Frances laughed, and _that_ gave Amy the courage she lacked, for her cheek glowed, and her eye flashed, and calmly and without hesitation, she went on at once.

"Have patience, Miss Strickland. I will go on quickly. You saw me yesterday talking to your cousin in the corridor, and I was led to infer from your manner, that you imagined I had done wrong in staying to speak with him, and I thought if I could only explain to you how accidentally it all occurred, you would exonerate both him and me from blame and unkind suspicion."

Frances raised her head haughtily. "I have so many cousins, that I must trouble Miss Neville to explain herself more fully, as I am unable either to recall the circ.u.mstance, or to remember which cousin was honoured by Miss Neville on the occasion referred to."

"Which cousin? I know but one--Mr. Charles Linchmore."

"I understood Miss Neville to be a lover of truth. If you know that Charles Linchmore is my cousin, may I ask what relation his brother can be?"

Amy was silent. Neither shame, fear, nor anger kept her so, for presently, a torrent of words burst from her lips, and she hurried on as if nothing could stop her; no, not even Frances' mocking gaze, or the seemingly indifferent manner with which she listened.

"Miss Strickland, why torture me thus? Think you that the change in my position has changed my feelings, my heart, my very nature? Think you I am a stone, or my heart dead within me, that I can stand calmly by, and hear such cutting cruel words from you, and not feel them bitterly? How could I look into your face the other day, or listen to your words, and not feel that you were judging me harshly; it was not possible, neither is it possible I can go on in my daily path of duty, until at least I have attempted to clear myself of the wrong I see you think me capable of. I have lived to see my fairest dreams vanish, and have bowed with submission to the will of One who is wiser then I,--have neither murmured nor fought against the burden G.o.d has seen fit to cast upon me, though it has been, nay, is, heavy and severe; and though my spirit has been sad and weary, cast down almost to the dust, yet I have had strength given me to fight against all repining, unthankful thoughts, and although not perhaps exactly satisfied with my lot in life, still I know it might be much worse; that many others suffer more than I do."

And Amy's voice sank almost to a whisper, still and low.

But Frances was in no way moved by it, and replied as hardly and tauntingly as before--

"Go on, pray, Miss Neville, or is this all you have to say?"

"All? Ah, no! I could talk for ever. My feelings have been pent up--kept back for days, weeks, months past. You have loosened them, and they must have sway. I cannot restrain them now. Oh, if you had ever felt as I have felt, you could never sit there so indifferently, and not feel some pity for me; have I not been as tenderly and delicately nurtured? as much love lavished on me? and yet it is all past and gone, and I am alone in the world. There is comfort in once again being able to talk--to tell of all that is binding my heart so tightly--burning my brain. I have shed tears, but they have brought no relief. I have pictured to myself happier days, such days of love and peace, but they have vanished from before me. I have dreamt pleasant dreams, but with the morning sun they too have disappeared, and all is cold, stern reality. Oh, I could talk for ever if I thought it would move you to think better of me."