I think all the servants hated her.  She was by no means a pleasant gouvernante for a nervous girl of my years.  She was always making excuses to consult my father about my contumacy and temper.  She tormented me by ghost stories to cover her nocturnal ramblings, and she betrayed a terrifying curiosity about his health and his will.  My cousin Monica, Lady Knollys, who visited us about this time, was shocked at her presence in the house; it was the cause of a rupture between my father and her.  But not even a frustrated attempt to abduct me during one of our walks—­which I am sure madame connived at—­could shake my father’s confidence in her, though he was perfectly transported with fury on hearing what had happened.  It was not until I found her examining his cabinet by means of a false key that he dismissed her; but madame had contrived to leave her glamour over me, and now and then the memory of her parting menaces would return with an unexpected pang of fear.

My father never alluded again to Madame de la Rougierre, but, whether connected with her exposure and dismissal or not, there appeared to be some new trouble at work in his mind.

“I am anxious about you, Maud,” he said. “You are more interested than I can be in vindicating his character.”

“Whose character, sir?” I ventured to inquire during the pause that followed.

“Whose?  Your Uncle Silas’s.  In course of nature he must survive me.  He will then represent the family name.  Would you make some sacrifice to clear that name, Maud?”

I answered briefly; but my face, I believe, showed my enthusiasm.

“I can tell you, Maud, if my life could have done it, it should not have been undone.  But I had almost made up my mind to leave all to time to illuminate, or consume.  But I think little Maud would like to contribute to the restitution of her family name.  It may cost you something.  Are you willing to buy it at a sacrifice?  Your Uncle Silas,” he said, speaking suddenly in loud and fierce tones that sounded almost terrible, “lies under an intolerable slander.  He troubles himself little about it; he is selfishly sunk in futurity—­a feeble visionary.  I am not so.  The character and influence of an ancient family are a peculiar heritage—­sacred, but destructible.  You and I, we’ll leave one proof on record which, fairly read, will go far to convince the world.”

That night my father bade me good-night early.  I had fallen into a doze when I was roused by a dreadful crash and a piercing scream from Mrs. Rusk.  Scream followed scream, pealing one after the other unabated, wilder and more terror-stricken.  Then came a strange lull, and the dull sounds of some heavy body being moved.

What was that dreadful sound?  Who had entered my father’s chamber?  It was the visitor whom he had so long expected, with whom he was to make the unknown journey, leaving me alone.  The intruder was Death!