That Sunday was a sorrowful one to Eleanor; for in the course of the conversation with Ada, which Mr. Mohun had desired her to hold, she became conscious of the little girl’s double-dealing ways.  It was only by a very close cross-examination that she was able to extract from her a true account of the disaster, and though Ada never went so far as actually to tell a falsehood, it was evident that she was willing to conceal as much as possible, and to throw the blame on other people.  And when the real facts were confessed she did not seem able to comprehend why she was regarded with displeasure; her instinct of truth and obedience was lost for the time, and Eleanor saw it with the utmost pain.  Adeline had been her especial darling, and cold as her manner had often been towards the others, it ever was warm towards the motherless little one, whom she had tended and cherished with most anxious care from her earliest infancy.  She had left her gentle, candid, and affectionate; a loving, engaging, little creature, and how did she find her now?  Her fair bright face disfigured, her caresses affected, her mind turned to deceit and prevarication!  Well might Eleanor feel it more than ever painful to leave her own little Henry to the care of others; and well it was for her that she had learned to find comfort in the consciousness that her duty was clear.

The next morning Emily learned what was Henry’s destination.

‘Oh!  Eleanor,’ said she, ’why do you not leave him here?  We should be so rejoiced to have him.’

‘Thank you, I am afraid it is out of the question,’ answered Eleanor, quietly.

’Why, dear Eleanor?  You know how glad we should be.  I should have thought,’ proceeded Emily, a little hurt, ’that you would have wished him to live in your own home.’

Eleanor did not speak, and Emily, who had the little boy in her arms, went on talking to him:  ’Come, baby, let us persuade mamma to let you stay with Aunt Emily.  Ask papa, Henry, won’t you?  Seriously, Eleanor, has Frank considered how much better it would be to have him in the country?’

‘He has, Emily; he once wished much to leave him here.’

‘I am sure grandpapa would like it,’ said Emily.  ’Do you observe, Eleanor, how fond he is of baby, always calling him Harry too, as if he liked the sound of the name?’

‘It has all been talked over, Emily, and it cannot be.’

‘With papa?’ asked Emily in surprise.

‘No, with Lily.’

‘With Lily!’ exclaimed Emily.  ’Did not Aunt Lily wish to keep you, Harry?  I thought she was very fond of you.’

‘You had better inquire no further,’ said Eleanor, ’except of your own conscience.’

‘Did Lily think us unfit to take care of him?’ asked Emily, in surprise.

As she spoke Lily herself came in, the key of the storeroom in her hand, and looks of consternation on her face.  She came to announce a terrible deficiency in the preserved quinces, which she herself had carefully put aside on a shelf in the storeroom, and which Emily said she had not touched in her absence.