that money--that money that had been saved and hoarded for a purpose,
and for such a purpose! Let Lydia spend the money that had, as Jane
expressed it, a vow over it! Not if her sharp wits could prevent it.

She thought over her plan as she bustled about and prepared the
supper. Very glum she looked as she stepped quickly here and there,
so much so that the dairymaid and the errand-boy chaffed her for her
dull demeanor.

Jane, however, hasty enough on most occasions, was too busy now with
her own thoughts either to heed or answer them.

Well she knew Lydia Purcell, equally well she knew that to tell
Cecile's tale would be useless. Lydia cared for neither kith nor kin,
and she loved money beyond even her own soul.

But Jane, a clever child once, a clever woman now, had not been
unobservant of some things in Lydia's past, some things that Lydia
supposed to be buried in the grave of her own heart. A kind-hearted
girl, Jane had never used this knowledge. But now knowledge was
power. She would use it in Cecile's behalf.

Ever since the finding of the purse, Lydia had been alone.

In real or pretended indignation, she had left Cecile to get out of
her faint as best she could. For six or seven hours she had now been
literally without a soul to speak to. She was not, therefore,
indisposed to chat with Jane--who was a favorite with her--when that
handmaid brought in a carefully prepared little supper, and laid it
by her side.