seized with desperate fears of the morrow, more of the shame of
hearing of her tears than of any punishment. Why had she not been
braver?

After a time came a light, and Josephine moving about quietly, and
putting away the clothes that had been left on the floor. Kate was
not afraid of her, but her caressing consolations and pity would have
only added to the miserable sense of shame; so there was no sign, no
symptom of being awake, though it was certain that before Josephine
went away, the candle was held so as to cast a light over all that
was visible of the face. Kate could not help hearing the low
muttering of the Frenchwoman, who was always apt to talk to herself:
"Asleep! Ah, yes! She sleeps profoundly. How ugly la petite has
made herself! What cries! Ah, she is like Miladi her aunt! a demon
of a temper!"

Kate restrained herself till the door was shut again, and then rolled
over and over, till she had made a strange entanglement of her bed-
clothes, and brought her passion to an end by making a mummy of
herself, bound hand and foot, snapping with her month all the time,
as if she longed to bite.

"O you horrible Frenchwoman! You are a flatterer, a base flatterer;
such as always haunt the great! I hate it all. I a demon of a
temper? I like Aunt Barbara? Oh, you wretch! I'll tell Aunt
Barbara a to-morrow, and get you sent away!"

Those were some of Kate's fierce angry thoughts in her first
vexation; but with all her faults, she was not a child who ever
nourished rancour or malice; and though she had been extremely