Every night Violet and Elsie, her mother, came, separately, for a few words with the little girl; always kind, gentle, loving words of admonition and entreaty that she would return to her former dutiful and docile behavior.  But they were always met by the same stubborn resolve.

At length, one evening she was summoned to Mr. Dinsmore’s presence,—­in the library as before,—­again asked if she were ready to obey, and on answering in the negative was told that, such being the case, she was to be sent to Oakdale as a boarding scholar, and not to return home at all until ready to give up her wilfulness and do as she was bidden.

She heard her sentence with dismay, but resolved to endure it rather than submit.

“I’m not ready to break my word yet, Grandpa Dinsmore,” she said with a lofty air; “and perhaps Oakdale won’t be a worse prison than those the martyrs went to for conscience’ sake.”

“Lulu,” he said sternly, “do not deceive yourself with the idea that you are suffering for conscience’ sake; a wicked promise—­a promise to break one of God’s commands—­is better broken than kept; the sin was in making it.”

“I don’t know any commandment that says I must take lessons of Signor Foresti, or obey somebody who is no relation to me,” returned Lulu, half trembling at her own temerity as she spoke.

“You are an extremely impertinent little girl,” said Mr. Dinsmore, “and not altogether honest in pretending such ignorance; you know that you are commanded to obey your father, that he has directed you to be obedient to me in his absence, and that I have ordered you to take lessons of Signor Foresti.”

He paused a moment, then went on:  “If tomorrow you do as you are ordered you will be at once restored to favor, and all the privileges you formerly enjoyed in this house; otherwise you will not return from Oakdale with the others in the afternoon.”

He waved his hand in dismissal, and she left the room full of anger and defiance, a most unhappy child.

In the hall she halted for a moment and glanced toward the outer door.  A sudden impulse moved her to run away.  But what good would that do?  Where could she go?  How find shelter, food, clothing?  And should she ever see father, brother, sisters again?

She moved on again down the hall, and slowly climbed the broad stairway leading to the one above.

Violet met her there and felt her heart sink as she glanced at the sullen, angry countenance.  She stopped, laid her hand kindly on the child’s shoulder, and said,

“Lulu, dear, I know pretty well what you have just been told by grandpa, and, my child, it distresses me exceedingly to think of you being sent away from us all.”

“You needn’t care, Mamma Vi; I don’t,” interrupted Lulu, angrily.  “I’d rather be away from people that ill-treat me so; I only wish I could go thousands of miles from you all, and never, never come back.”