Under the shadow of the broken wall, and its ivy, she sat down with a frolicsome plump, and opened her basket, inviting me to partake, which I declined.  I must do her justice, however, upon the suspicion of poison, which she quite disposed of by gobbling up, to her own share, everything which the basket contained.

The reader is not to suppose that Madame’s cheerful demeanour indicated that I was forgiven.  Nothing of the kind.  One syllable more, on our walk home, she addressed not to me.  And when we reached the terrace, she said—­

’You will please, Maud, remain for two—­three minutes in the Dutch garden, while I speak with Mr. Ruthyn in the study.’

This was spoken with a high head and an insufferable smile; and I more haughtily, but quite gravely, turned without disputing, and descended the steps to the quaint little garden she had indicated.

I was surprised and very glad to see my father there.  I ran to him, and began, ‘Oh! papa!’ and then stopped short, adding only, ’may I speak to you now?’

He smiled kindly and gravely on me.

‘Well, Maud, say your say.’

’Oh, sir, it is only this:  I entreat that our walks, mine and Madame’s may be confined to the grounds.’

‘And why?’

‘I—­I’m afraid to go with her.’

‘Afraid!’ he repeated, looking hard at me.  ’Have you lately had a letter from Lady Knollys?’

‘No, papa, not for two months or more.’

There was a pause.

‘And why afraid, Maud?’

’She brought me one day to Church Scarsdale; you know what a solitary place it is, sir; and she frightened me so that I was afraid to go with her into the churchyard.  But she went and left me alone at the other side of the stream, and an impudent man passing by stopped and spoke to me, and seemed inclined to laugh at me, and altogether frightened me very much, and he did not go till Madame happened to return.’

‘What kind of man—­young or old?’

’A young man; he looked like a farmer’s son, but very impudent, and stood there talking to me whether I would or not; and Madame did not care at all, and laughed at me for being frightened; and, indeed, I am very uncomfortable with her.’

He gave me another shrewd look, and then looked down cloudily and thought.

’You say you are uncomfortable and frightened.  How is this—­what causes these feelings?’

’I don’t know, sir; she likes frightening me; I am afraid of her—­we are all afraid of her, I think.  The servants, I mean, as well as I.’

My father nodded his head contemptuously, twice or thrice, and muttered, ’A pack of fools!’

’And she was so very angry to-day with me, because I would not walk again with her to Church Scarsdale.  I am very much afraid of her.  I—­’ and quite unpremeditatedly I burst into tears.

’There, there, little Maud, you must not cry.  She is here only for your good.  If you are afraid—­even foolishly afraid—­it is enough.  Be it as you say; your walks are henceforward confined to the grounds; I’ll tell her so.’