little indignation; but then she remembered how forlorn she was, and her
voice softened. "I must do something,--but I don't know what I am good
for," she said, trembling, and on the verge of tears.

"My dear, I have heard a great deal about you," said the stranger; "it is
not rash, though it may look so. Come back with me directly, and see
Connie. She is a very interesting little thing, though I say it; it is
wonderful sometimes to hear her talk. You shall be her governess, my
dear. Oh, you need not teach her anything,--that is not what I mean. I
think, I am sure, you will be the saving of her, Miss Vivian; and such a
lady as you are, it will be everything for the other girls to live with
you. Don't stop to think, but just come with me. You shall have whatever
you please, and always be treated like a lady. Oh, my dear, consider my
feelings as a mother, and come; oh, come to Connie! I know you will save
her; it is an inspiration. Come back! Come back with me!"

It seemed to Mary too like an inspiration. What it cost her to cross that
threshold and walk in a stranger, to the house which had been all her
life as her own, she never said to any one. But it was independence; it
was deliverance from entreaties and remonstrances without end. It was a
kind of setting right, so far as could be, of the balance which had got
so terribly wrong. No writing to the earl now; no appeal to friends;
anything in all the world,--much more, honest service and kindness,--must
be better than that.




VIII.