Amidst all the talking and novelty of her new situation, however, Emilie was absent and thoughtful; she was dispirited, and yet she was not subject to low spirits either.  There was a cause.  She had a tender conscience—­a conscience with which she was in the habit of conversing, and conscience kept whispering to her the words—­“What things soever ye would that men should do unto you, do ye also to them.”  In vain she tried to silence this monitor, and at last she asked to withdraw for a few minutes, and scribbled a hasty note to Miss Webster; the first she wrote was as follows:—­

“Dear Miss W.—­I enclose the key of the pianoforte.  I should have acceded to your request, only I remembered standing on that very spot, by that very counter, a year ago, petitioning hard for the loan of a sofa for my dying father, who, in his feverish and restless state, longed to leave the bed for awhile.  I remembered that, and I could not feel as if I could oblige you; but I have thought better of it, and beg you will use the piano.”

“Yours truly,

“Emilie Schomberg.”

She read the note before folding it, however; and somehow it did not satisfy her.  She crumpled it up, took a turn or two in the room, and then wrote the following:—­

“Dear Miss Webster—­I am sorry that I for a moment hesitated to lend you my piano.  It was selfish, and I hope you will excuse the incivility.  I enclose the key, and as your lodgers do not come in until to-morrow, I hope the delay will not have inconvenienced you.

“Believe me, yours truly,

“Emilie Schomberg.”

Having sealed her little note, she asked Mrs. Parker’s permission to send it into High Street, and Emilie Schomberg was herself again.  You will see, by-and-bye, how Emilie returned Miss Webster’s selfishness in a matter yet more important than the loan of the piano.  It would have been meeting evil with evil had she retaliated the mean conduct of her landlady.  She would undoubtedly have done so, had she yielded to the impulses of her nature; but “how then could I have prayed,” said Emilie, “forgive me my trespasses as I forgive them that trespass against me.”

The travellers set off early in the morning, and now began the holiday of both governess and pupil.  They loved one another so well that the prospect of six weeks’ close companionship was irksome to neither; but Emilie had not a holiday of it altogether.  Miss Edith was exacting and petulant at times, even with those she loved, and she loved none better than Emilie.  Fred, the tormenting brother of whom Edith had spoken in her list of troubles in our first chapter, was undeniably troublesome; and the three maid-servants set themselves from the very first to resist the governess’s temporary authority; so we are wrong in calling these Emilie’s holidays.  She had not, indeed, undertaken the charge very willingly; but Mrs. Parker had befriended her in extremity, and she loved Edith dearly, notwithstanding much in her that was not loveable, so she armed herself for the conflict, and cheerfully and humbly commenced her new duties.