no, of course not! there's nothing gained by that. But where's Miss Worth!"
"She has not joined us since the house has been so full of guests. I think she takes her meals with the children in the nursery."
"Ah, yes; I presume so; but I had forgotten it, and it struck me that she might be ill. I thought she was looking badly last night. Did you notice it?"
"Yes; I did. I will inquire about her," Mildred said, remembering with a pang of self-reproach how ghastly a face the governess had worn on taking her seat at the piano.
She might be very ill, unable to call for help, neglected by the sleepy maids, and she herself had been up for two hours and ought to have gone to her door to inquire.
She went immediately on leaving the table, her alarm and anxiety increased on the way thither by the information, gleaned from one of the servants, that Miss Worth had not been present at the nursery breakfast.
Mildred rapped lightly, then louder, and receiving no answer, tried the door. It opened and she stole softly in.
Miss Worth lay on the outside of the bed, still dressed as she had last seen her—in the drawing room at the piano—and sleeping heavily. Her face was very pale and distressed and she moaned now and then as if in pain.
She had nothing over her; but a heavy dark shawl lay on the floor beside the chimney Mildred picked it up and spread it over her, drew down the blinds to shut out the glare of the sun, rang for the maid, and while waiting for her, moved quietly about the room putting things in their places.
"It is very cold here, for the fire is quite out and must be made up at once," she whispered, meeting the girl at the door and motioning her to make no noise. "Go bring up wood and kindling."
"De governess sick, Miss Milly?" queried the servant, sending a curious glance in the direction of the bed.
"I don't know, Dinah, perhaps only tired, for she was up very late last night; but she is asleep and must not be disturbed." And Mildred motioned her imperatively away.
It was not till an hour later that Miss Worth stirred and woke to find a cheerful fire blazing on the hearth and Mildred beside it quietly knitting.
She put down her work hastily, rose and came forward as she perceived the governess's eyes fixed upon her in a sort of perplexed surprise.
"Excuse the intrusion," Mildred said; "but I thought you seemed ill, and was afraid you might need help. I hope your sleep has refreshed you, and that you will let me order the breakfast they are keeping hot for you in the kitchen."
"Thank you, I cannot understand such kindness to me," Miss Worth said huskily. "I was very tired—not sick, I think—and I suppose the sleep has done me good."
"And you will eat something?"
"I will try, since you are so good."
The effort was but indifferently successful, yet Miss Worth steadily refused to acknowledge herself on the sick list, and insisted that she was able to work and must do so; and Mildred went away, feeling troubled and anxious.
Left alone, Miss Worth took out her writing materials, then resting her elbows on the table, her face in her hands, sat thus for a long time without moving, a heavy sigh now and then escaping her.
At last she took up her pen and wrote rapidly for several minutes, then snatching up the paper, she tore it into fragments and threw them into the fire.
Another sheet shared the same fate, and seemingly giving it up in despair, she rose and walked the floor.
"Oh, if I only knew what to do, what to say!" she moaned. "If he would but hear reason; if he would but forsake his evil courses! And yet!—Oh, if I had a friend! just one wise, true friend to advise and help me! But I dare not breathe my terrible fears to any mortal; and who is there that would care to listen?"
Her eye fell on the Bible lying there on the table, and with the sight came the recollection of the texts Mildred had quoted to her.
She almost heard a gentle, tender voice saying "Come unto me—and I will give you rest," and falling on her knees she cried to him,
"Lord Jesus I do come! I give myself to thee; and oh, I beseech thee in thy great mercy and loving kindness to help me in this my hour of perplexity and distress!"
Strange what a blessed calm succeeded the storm. She rose from her knees wondrously soothed and quieted. She had found a Friend who had pledged His word to help her and who had all power in heaven and in earth. What need she fear? "If God be for us, who can be against us?"
There might be trouble in store for her—great and sore trouble—but He would help her through.
There was a sound of gay young voices in the halls without and on the stairway; a carriage had driven to the door, an open barouche, and presently she saw it going down the avenue and that Mr. and Mrs. Dinsmore and the three young ladies were in it.
The older children were away from home, as she knew, spending a few days at a neighboring plantation; the younger ones were probably in the nursery.
She watched the carriage till it was lost to sight far down the road, then was turning from the window, with the thought in her mind that it would be a blessing to Juliet Marsden, as well as herself, if it were taking her home to her father's care, when she caught sight of a horseman coming from the opposite direction.
She stood still, scanning him narrowly as he turned in at the gate and came cantering up the avenue; as he drew near she recognized him with a start of surprise—terror mingling with it at first, but changing instantly to joy that he had assuredly missed the object of his visit.
It was her scoundrel brother; yet spite of all the distress and anguish of mind he was causing her, she was conscious of a thrill of sisterly pride in his handsome face and form, and the grace and ease of his horsemanship.
But she must seize this unhoped-for opportunity; there were motives she could urge which escaped her thoughts the previous night, and that might, perhaps, have weight with him; and much now depended upon prompt action on her part.
She flew down the stairs and admitted him herself, before he had had time to ring; and fortunately no servant had perceived his approach.
He looked at her in extreme surprise.
"How is this?" he inquired, with an ill-natured sneer, "have you been promoted to the office of porter?"
"Hush!" she answered, in an imperative whisper. "Come in here;" and she led the way into a little parlor close at hand.
"Excuse the impertinence, Madame, but I did not come to see you," he said angrily, as he followed her in.
"I am well aware of that fact," she said in a calm tone of quiet firmness, as she turned and faced him. "Nevertheless, I believe I am the one, and the only one you will see; and it is well, for I have something of importance to say."
"Where is Miss Marsden?" he demanded.
"Gone for a drive, and all the other ladies with her; Mr. Dinsmore also. The last of the guests left an hour since, and we may chat for a good while without much fear of interruption."
"Suppose I don't
