the sense of wrong, and as I reached the door I turned to say another word,
but I could not, and only burst into tears.

'There--don't cry, little Maud--only let us do better for the future.
There--there--there has been enough.'

And he kissed my forehead, and gently put me out and closed the door.

In the school-room I took courage, and with some warmth upbraided Madame.

'Wat wicked cheaile!' moaned Madame, demurely. 'Read aloud those
three--yes, _those_ three chapters of the Bible, my dear Maud.'

There was no special fitness in those particular chapters, and when they
were ended she said in a sad tone--

'Now, dear, you must commit to memory this pretty priaire for umility of
art.'

It was a long one, and in a state of profound irritation I got through the
task.

Mrs. Rusk hated her. She said she stole wine and brandy whenever the
opportunity offered--that she was always asking her for such stimulants and
pretending pains in her stomach. Here, perhaps, there was exaggeration; but
I knew it was true that I had been at different times despatched on that
errand and pretext for brandy to Mrs. Rusk, who at last came to her bedside
with pills and a mustard blister only, and was hated irrevocably ever
after.