get her in the mind to go.  This was effected in due time, and Mr. Crosse came up to the lodgings for her and her little box, in his horse and gig, on the very evening that Emilie was to go the Parkers’, to be installed as housekeeper and governess in the lady’s absence.  Edith had come to see the dear old aunt off; and now re-entered the lodgings to help Emilie to collect her things, and to settle with Miss Webster for the lodgings, before her departure.  Miss Webster had met with a tenant for six weeks, and was in very good spirits, and very willing to take care of the Schombergs’ goods, which, to tell the truth, were not likely to oppress her either in number or value, with the exception of one cherished article, one relic of former days—­a good semi-grand piano, which M. Schomberg had purchased for his daughter, about a year before his death.  Miss Webster looked very much confused as Emilie bade her good-bye, and said—­“Miss Schomberg, you have not, I see, left your piano unlocked.”

“No,” said Emilie, “certainly I have not; I did not suppose——­”

“Why,” replied Miss Webster, “the lodgers, seeing a piano, will be sure to ask for the key, Miss, and to be sure you wo’nt object.”

Emilie hesitated.  Did she remember the time when Miss Webster, indignant at Emilie for being a fortnight behind-hand in her weekly rent, refused to lend a sofa for her dying father, without extra pay?  Did she recall the ill-made slops, the wretched attendance to which this selfish woman treated them during the pressure of poverty and distress?  Emilie was human, and she remembered all.  She knew, moreover, that Miss Webster would make a gain of her instrument, and that it might suffer from six weeks’ rough use.  She stood twisting some straw plait that lay on the counter, in her fingers, and then coolly saying she would consider of it, walked out of the shop with Edith, her bosom swelling with conflicting feelings.  The slight had been to her father—­to her dear dead father—­she could not love Miss Webster, nor respect her—­she could not oblige her.  She felt so now, however, and despised the meanness of the lodging-house keeper, in making the request.

Edith was by her side in good spirits, though she was to miss the London journey.  Not every young lady would be so content to remain all the holiday-time with the governess; but Edith loved her governess.  Happy governess, to be loved by her pupil!

Mrs. Parker received Emilie very kindly:  she was satisfied that her dear child would be happy in her absence, and she knew enough of Emilie, she said, to believe that she would see that Mr. Parker had his meals regularly and nicely served, and that the servants did not rob or run away, or the boys put their dirty feet on the sofa, or bright fender tops, or lead Edith into mischief; in short, the things that Emilie was to see to were so numerous, that it would have required more eyes than she possessed, and far more vigilance and experience than she lay claim to, to fulfill all Mrs. Parker’s desires.