triumphant conversations she held upon the subject with Miss Malison, who became more and more indignant at Mrs. Hamilton’s intrusive conduct in taking so much notice of Lilla, notwithstanding the tales industriously circulated against her.  Her own severity and malevolence, however, appeared about to become her foes; for about this time a slight change with regard to the happiness of her injured pupil took place, which threatened to banish her from Mr. Grahame’s family.

One morning Mrs. Hamilton, accompanied by Ellen, called on Lady Helen rather earlier than usual, but found their friend not yet visible, an attack of indisposition confining her to her couch later than usual, but Lady Helen sending to entreat her friend not to leave her house without seeing her, Mrs. Hamilton determined on waiting.  Annie had gone out with Miss Malison.

“No wonder our poor Lilla proceeds but slowly in her education,” remarked Mrs. Hamilton, when the footman gave her this information.  “If she be so much neglected, her father has no right to expect much progress.  I wish from my heart that I could think of some plan that would tend not only to the happiness of this poor girl, but in the end to that of her father also.  Were those faults now apparent in her character judiciously removed, I feel confident Mr. Grahame would have more comfort in her than in either of his other children.”

“She is always very different when she is with us,” observed Ellen.  “I can never discover those evil passions of which so many accuse her; passionate she is, but that might be controlled.”

“It never can he while Miss Malison remains with her, for her treatment is such that each year but increases the evil.”  A sound as of some one sobbing violently in the adjoining room interrupted their conversation.  Fancying it came from the object of their conversation, Mrs. Hamilton opened the folding-doors, and discovered her young friend weeping violently, almost convulsively, on the sofa.  Ever alive to sorrow, of whatever nature or at whatever age, Mrs. Hamilton, followed by Ellen, hastened towards her.

“What has happened, Lilla?” she said, soothingly.  “What has chanced to call forth this violent grief? tell me, my love.  You know you need not hesitate to trust me with your sorrows.”

Unused, save from that one dear friend, to hear the voice of sympathy and kindness, Lilla flung her arms passionately round her neck, and clung to her for some few minutes till her choking sobs permitted her to speak.

“Aunt Augusta says I am so wicked, so very wicked, that mamma ought not to keep me at home, that I am not at all too old to go to school, and mamma says that I shall go—­and—­and”—­

“But what occasioned your aunt to advise such an alternative?” demanded Mrs. Hamilton, gently.

“Oh, because—­because I know I was very wicked, but I could not help it.  Miss Malison had been tormenting me all the morning, and exciting my anger; and then Annie chose to do all she could to call it forth before mamma, and so I just told her what I thought of both her and her amiable confidant.  I hate them both,” she continued, with a vehemence even the presence of Mrs. Hamilton could not restrain, “and I wish from my heart I could never see them more.”