Those words gave me quite a new light.  Why, of course I must; my mother was not only well educated, but she was also highly accomplished; she spoke French and German and had a very fair knowledge of Italian, whereas I had only just mastered the rudiments of English.  New life, new ideas, new ambitions suddenly awoke within me, and, seeing her advantage, Emma pursued it.

“I have heard,” she said, “that my lady is wonderfully clever.  You will be her companion and her constant comfort; you must know some of the things she does.  Now, Miss Laura, make up your mind, dear; instead of making the lady your enemy, be quick and learn all she can teach you—­the sooner you know it all the sooner she will go.”

Ah, that was something like a reason for studying; I would learn lessons all day and all night to insure her going.  It must be a matter of years, but if by constant application I could shorten the time, even by one year, that was much.  Then Emma gave me much sensible advice; above all, never to speak to mamma about Miss Reinhart.

“You see, Miss Laura, if your dear mamma took curious fancies against this lady, how dreadful it would be.  It would make her much worse, and we do not know what might happen.  Whatever occurs, bear it all patiently or come to me.”

“My life is spoiled,” I cried; “but I will do what you say.”

And I made to myself a vow, which I kept through all temptation, never once to complain to my mother about Miss Reinhart.  I did keep it, and Heaven knows how much it cost me.  My father was rather surprised the next day when I went to his study and asked him if I could begin my lessons at once.  He laughed.

“What an energetic scholar,” he cried.  “Why do you wish to begin so soon, Laura?”

“Because I have so very much to learn,” I replied.

“You shall begin this day, Laura,” he said; “but Miss Reinhart must see mamma first, and arrange the best hours for study.  There are two or three little arrangements I should like changing—­for instance, now that mamma is never present, I cannot see why you and Miss Reinhart should not take breakfast with me.  I am very lonely, and should be delighted if we could manage that.  But I must speak to mamma.  Then I should like you to go on dining with me, as you have done since mamma’s illness.  It makes me quite ill to enter that great, desolate dining room.  Do you remember how mamma’s sweet face used to shine there, Laura?”

Did I?  Did I ever enter the room without?

“Make your mind easy, Laura; you shall begin your lessons to-day, and we will see what mamma wishes to be done.”

That day an arrangement was made:  Miss Reinhart and I were to breakfast and dine with papa; the morning, until two was to be devoted to my studies, and the rest of the day, if mamma desired her presence, Miss Reinhart was to spend with her.  We were to walk together, and I was, as usual, to go out with mamma when her chair was wheeled into the grounds.