"I will not; that must rest with you alone, with that I can have nothing to do, your future happiness must be made or marred by yourself alone.

You need have no fear, but trust; only trust in me, Miss Neville."

"And I shall see him, shall speak to him myself--alone?"

"You shall do so. He shall hear no word of your love from me."

"You promise it, Mr. Linchmore," said Amy, now for the first time raising her eyes to his.

"I promise it, Miss Neville, most faithfully."

"Thank you! thank you; then all will be right."

"I wish, oh! how I wish it could be otherwise," sobbed Amy, as he left her; "but I must not murmur, I must be thankful,--thank G.o.d it is no worse than it is; but how can he think that I love him?"

Amy felt utterly miserable. Did she deny Vavasour's being the cause of her fainting, would not Mr. Linchmore naturally enough wonder what had been the occasion of it? or perhaps in the end guess of her love for his brother, even as he had supposed it to be for Mr. Vavasour? No, rather let him think anything than that! a thousand times rather.

Mr. Linchmore had promised she should see Mr. Vavasour--there was some comfort in that; she could appeal to him, he would be reasoned with, would listen and believe her even if he loved her--if?--Amy began to think there was no need of a doubt, and that it was true he loved her.

Why should Mr. Linchmore be deceived? All the latter's warnings, and Mr.

Vavasour's kindness were accounted for now; but love her as he would, she could not be his wife. No--even if she had never had a thought for another, it could not have been, and now?--now she would never be any man's wife.

Alone? Yes, hopelessly alone. Alone with that one secret love in her heart, that no one must know or guess at, not even her mother. Yes, it was hard, very hard. Was she not striving hard to forget him? Perhaps she would die in the struggle, she felt so hopelessly unequal to face the storm; perhaps it was best she should die. But then her mother? Yes, she must live for her, and forget him. It would not be so difficult, seeing he loved her not, would perhaps never see her again. She was glad _he_ had not known of her fainting. And who could have told Mr.

Linchmore? Was it Frances?

CHAPTER XII.

LOOKING FOR THE "BRADSHAW."

"Yet though my griefe finde noe redress, But still encrease before myne eyes, Though my reward be cruelnesse, With all the harme, happs can devyse, Yet I profess it willingly To serve and suffer patiently.

There is no griefe, no smert, no woe, That yet I feel, or after shall, That from this minde may make me goe, And whatsoever me befall, I do profess it willingly, To serve and suffer patiently."

WYAT.

"I am two fools, I know, For loving and for saying so."

DONNE.

Amy was not the only one who wept that night; Frances also did so at heart, for very anger and vexation.

She had missed Mr. Linchmore almost immediately after she had sought Miss Neville; had suspected why he had done so, and managed to overhear almost every word of the latter part of their conversation, and when Amy went so sorrowfully out of the inner drawing-room Frances walked straight over to the fire, and seated herself in the easy chair where Amy had only a few minutes before sobbed out her very heart, almost.

Frances had good cause for tears and anger, feeling she was being foiled and defeated when the end was almost won. Her conversation with Mr.

Linchmore had been a false move, she had urged him on too quickly; but for that, he never would have seen his wife and Mr. Vavasour, and all would yet have been well; now all was going on wrong--utterly wrong.

That Robert Vavasour would propose for Miss Neville was certain. That Miss Neville meant to refuse him was certain, too. The first she had fully calculated upon, but not the latter. She had intended the first to take place only when Amy had been so hopelessly entangled that she could not escape, could not say no, and now to be defeated at the very moment of victory, was almost more than her proud spirit could brook.

Was all her plotting to be of no use? all to be lost? and to be lost now? Now that the end was all but attained, and it wanted but one final stroke for Amy to be lost to Charles for ever!

A dull, heavy despair was fast creeping over her spirits; what could be done now? Oh! for some one to aid her! What if she spoke to Robert Vavasour, and urged him on to make Amy his at all hazards; she felt certain he loved her with all his heart. Suppose she told him of Amy's secret, and apparently hopeless love for her cousin, as the true reason why she would refuse to listen to his suit. But then again, he might be too proud to marry a woman whose heart was another's, on the mere dangerous chance of being able to win it in the end, and if he should think so and give her up? might not Charles hear of it and return, and then all her hopes be dashed to the ground, just as they seemed on the point of being accomplished?

Frances sat moodily by the smouldering fire, tapping her foot impatiently on the ground in utter vexation of spirit, her heart aching and her temples throbbing with the anguish of her thoughts. She had a strong ruthless will; but how to make others bend to it? How bring them under the influence of it? She chafed with angry vexation; no rest had she that night; but lay restlessly tossing about the bed, when at last, utterly worn out, she threw herself impatiently on it. It was the first drawback she had had in the task she had set herself to accomplish. If Robert Vavasour would only defer his proposal to Miss Neville for one day? Give her time to think of some fresh stratagem! But no. Mr.

Linchmore had willed it otherwise. Had she not heard him tell Miss Neville he would have an explanation from Mr. Vavasour of what he had seen in the conservatory; and that Frances knew right well could lead but to one result: a repet.i.tion of his conversation with Mrs.

Linchmore, disclosing his love for her governess.

As Frances drew up her blind in the morning, almost hating the winter's sun as it streamed in at the window, she knew a few short hours would decide Amy's fate and hers. A reprieve she could not hope for: it was simply impossible. Still she did not give up all hope; a trifle might yet turn the tide of events in her favour; so she went downstairs to breakfast, her head filled as much as ever with schemes and plots. How it beat with renovated hope as she heard that Mr. Linchmore had been suddenly called away on business early that morning. How she wished it might last for days!

The studies did not progress very happily that morning, although Amy set herself resolutely to work, and strove to drive away the troubled thoughts that crowded into her brain. But they would come back do what she would. How many false notes were played by f.a.n.n.y, without being noticed, at her morning's practising; and mistakes made by Edith at her French reading without correction. Every moment Amy expected and awaited a summons from Mr. Linchmore; but none came; and as the morning wore on, she grew restless and impatient.

The afternoon drew on, and Amy grew still more anxious; could settle herself to nothing; but sat and watched the sun as it sunk lower and lower, and wondered at the reason of the delay. Mary entered with a letter. It must be later than she thought, almost half-past four, and still no summons.

She drew near the fire-light, and opened her letter. It was from Ashleigh, and as if to verify the old adage that troubles never come alone, her mother was worse, and Mrs. Elrington asked Amy to return home for a week, as she thought the sight of her daughter might rouse and cheer the invalid. It was the apathy and apparent want of energy the medical man feared, nothing else; and it was thought Amy's presence might dissipate it.

All minor troubles were now swallowed up in this; with tearful eyes Amy sought Mrs. Linchmore and obtained the wished-for leave. This time there was no regretful tardiness in granting it, no unwillingness expressed.

"Pray go as soon as you like, Miss Neville," she said, "and do not hurry back on the children's account, a week or so will make no difference to either them or me."

Amy felt grateful for her kindness in so readily granting her request, although the words themselves were somewhat stiffly spoken; but her thoughts were so entirely engrossed by her mother's illness and the feeling of being so soon at home again, they could not long dwell on anything else; all were trifles compared to that.

"I will not say good-bye," added Mrs. Linchmore, "as we shall meet again in the drawing-room this evening."

But Amy excused herself. She had so much to do, and to think of. There was her packing not begun even.

"Then I will make my adieux now. I trust you will find Mrs. Neville better, or at all events mending. I fear you will not see Mr. Linchmore; he was called away early this morning to attend the death bed of a very old friend of his, and had to start at a minute's notice; but I will desire the carriage to be ready for you at any hour you like to name, or you can send word by Mary."

Mr. Linchmore was away then; hence the reason of his not having fulfilled his promise. Amy was glad of the reprieve, perhaps before her return, things might wear a different aspect; at all events, her heart felt lighter, and she went to her room with a less weight on her spirits.

"Where is your governess?" asked Frances, entering the school-room soon after Amy had left it to seek Mrs. Linchmore.

f.a.n.n.y was nursing her doll, and scarcely deigned to look up as she replied, "She is busy packing."

"Packing!" exclaimed Frances in bewilderment. "Packing! and for what?"

"To go away," was the curt answer.

Go away. Another step backwards in the wheel of fortune.

"She is not going for good?" she asked.

"Oh! no. Only for a week. Are you not sorry, cousin? I am," said f.a.n.n.y, in somewhat of a saucy tone. The child still remembered the "Holy Work:"

thought of her hurt arm.

"Very sorry," replied Frances sincerely enough. What could she be going away for? but anxious as Frances was, she disdained to ask the children, but sat down and awaited quietly Miss Neville's coming.

Amy went on steadily with her packing, which, with Mary's help, was soon finished, and then went down to the library to look at the "Bradshaw," and find out which was the very earliest train by which she could start on the morrow. But it was not on the table. She turned over the books one by one, removed the inkstand and papers, but her search was fruitless. It was gone.