Except a kiss and a few hurried words in the morning when she was leaving, and a pencilled farewell for papa, there was nothing more from Cousin Monica for some time.

Knowl was dark again—­darker than ever.  My father, gentle always to me, was now—­perhaps it was contrast with his fitful return to something like the world’s ways, during Lady Knollys’ stay—­more silent, sad, and isolated than before.  Of Madame de la Rougierre I had nothing at first particular to remark.  Only, reader, if you happen to be a rather nervous and very young girl, I ask you to conceive my fears and imaginings, and the kind of misery which I was suffering.  Its intensity I cannot now even myself recall.  But it overshadowed me perpetually—­a care, an alarm.  It lay down with me at night and got up with me in the morning, tinting and disturbing my dreams, and making my daily life terrible.  I wonder now that I lived through the ordeal.  The torment was secret and incessant, and kept my mind in unintermitting activity.

Externally things went on at Knowl for some weeks in the usual routine.  Madame was, so far as her unpleasant ways were concerned, less tormenting than before, and constantly reminded me of ’our leetle vow of friendship, you remember, dearest Maud!’ and she would stand beside me, and looked from the window with her bony arm round my waist, and my reluctant hand drawn round in hers; and thus she would smile, and talk affectionately and even playfully; for at times she would grow quite girlish, and smile with her great carious teeth, and begin to quiz and babble about the young ‘faylows,’ and tell bragging tales of her lovers, all of which were dreadful to me.

She was perpetually recurring, too, to the charming walk we had had together to Church Scarsdale, and proposing a repetition of that delightful excursion, which, you may be sure, I evaded, having by no means so agreeable a recollection of our visit.

One day, as I was dressing to go out for a walk, in came good Mrs. Rusk, the housekeeper, to my room.

’Miss Maud, dear, is not that too far for you?  It is a long walk to Church Scarsdale, and you are not looking very well.’

‘To Church Scarsdale?’ I repeated; ’I’m not going to Church Scarsdale; who said I was going to Church Scarsdale?  There is nothing I should so much dislike.’

‘Well, I never!’ exclaimed she.  ’Why, there’s old Madame’s been down-stairs with me for fruit and sandwiches, telling me you were longing to go to Church Scarsdale——­’

‘It’s quite untrue,’ I interrupted.  ‘She knows I hate it.’

‘She does?’ said Mrs. Rusk, quietly; ’and you did not tell her nothing about the basket?  Well—­if there isn’t a story!  Now what may she be after—­what is it—­what is she driving at?’

‘I can’t tell, but I won’t go.’

’No, of course, dear, you won’t go.  But you may be sure there’s some scheme in her old head.  Tom Fowkes says she’s bin two or three times to drink tea at Farmer Gray’s—­now, could it be she’s thinking to marry him?’ And Mrs. Rusk sat down and laughed heartily, ending with a crow of derision.