"I haven't twenty. I do not know where to get them. You must be content with ten."

"Ten won't do," said Sabina obstinately.

Mrs. Vane made a gesture of impatience.

"Reach me that jewel-box over there," she said. "Yes; bring it close--I have the key. Here are two five-pound notes. And here--take this ring, this bracelet--they are worth far more than ten pounds--get what you can for them."

"I'd rather have the money," said Sabina; "but, if I must put up with this, I must. I'll be off in a couple of days."

"You had better not tell anyone before hand that you are going. Some people might--think it their duty to interfere."

"All right--I'll keep quiet, don't you fear, ma'am! Well, then, that's settled. If I go to London, you'll send me the fifty pound a quarter.

And it must be regular, if you please--else I'll have to come down here after it."

"You will not have to do that," said Mrs. Vane coldly.

"Very well. Then I'll say good-bye to you, ma'am. Hope you'll get safely through your troubles; but it seems to me that you're in an uncommon risky position."

"And, if I am," said Flossy, with sudden anger, "whose fault is it but yours?"

Sabina shrugged her shoulders, and did not seem to think it worth while to reply. She walked to the door, and let herself out without another look or word.

She knew her way about Beechfield Hall perfectly well; and it was perhaps of set purpose that she turned down a passage that led past the nursery door. The door was open, and Master Dick was drawing a horse-and-cart up and down the smooth boards of the corridor. It was his favorite playing-place on a summer evening. He stopped short when he saw Sabina, and looked at her with observant eyes.

"This isn't your way, you know," he said, facing her gravely. "This passage leads to my room, and Enid's room, not to the kitchens; and you belong to the kitchens, don't you?"

Sabina stopped and eyed him strangely. She looked at his delicate sharp-featured little face, at his fair hair and blue eyes, at the dainty neatness of his apparel, and the costly toy which he held in his hands. Her own bold eyes softened as she looked. She half knelt down and held out her arms.

"Will you kiss me once, dearie, before I go away?"

Dick looked at her wonderingly. Then he came and put his little arms around her neck and kissed her once, twice, thrice.

"Don't cry," he said; "I didn't know you were so nice and kind. But, you see, I've only seen you in the shop."

"You won't see me in the shop any more. I'm going away," said Sabina, utterly forgetful of her promise to Mrs. Vane.

"Are you?" said Dick. "Oh, then, won't there be any more sweeties in your windows? Or will some one else sell them?"

"Some one else, I expect. That's all that children care for!" cried Sabina, springing to her feet. "He's got no heart!"

Turning her face suddenly, she saw that there had been a spectator of the little scene--a spectator at the sight of whom Sabina Meldreth turned deadly white. Miss Vane stood at the nursery door. She had been sitting there, and had heard Sabina's words and poor little Dick's innocent reply.

"You are wrong," she said gravely, with her eyes intent on Sabina's pale distorted face. "He has a heart--he is very loving and gentle. But you cannot expect him to love you when he does not know you. If ever he knew you better, he would--perhaps--love you more."

This speech, uttered quite gently and even pitifully, had a curious effect upon Sabina. She burst into tears, and turned away, hiding her face and sobbing as she went.

Enid stood for a moment in the doorway, holding the door-post by one hand, and sadly watching the retreating figure until it disappeared.

Then Dick pulled at her dress.

"Cousin Enid, why does that woman cry? And why did she want to kiss me?

Was she angry or sorry, or what?"

"Sorry, I think, dear," said Enid, as she went back to her seat.

She drew Dick upon her knee and caressed him tenderly for a few moments; but Dick felt, to his surprise, that the kisses she bestowed on him were mingled with tears.

"Cousin Enid, why do you cry too?"

But all she answered was--

"Oh, Dick, Dick--my poor little Dick--I hope you will never--never know!" Which poor little Dick could not understand.

Hubert Lepel arrived on the following day. He had not been to Beechfield Hall for some weeks, and he seemed to feel it incumbent upon him to make up to Enid for his long absence by presents and compliments; for he had brought her a beautiful bracelet, and was unusually profuse in his expressions of regard and admiration. And yet Enid seemed scarcely so pleased as a young girl in similar circumstances ought to have seemed.

Indeed she shrank a little from private conversation with him, and looked harassed and troubled.

It was perhaps in consequence of this fact that three days after his arrival Hubert sought a private interview with his sister. Flossy had meanwhile not spoken a word; she had been watching and waiting for those three days.

"Florence, I am inclined to think that you were mistaken."

"So am I," thought Flossy to herself; but aloud she only asked, "Why, dear?" with perfect tranquility.

"About Enid. I--I am beginning to think that she doesn't much care." He said the last words slowly, with his eyes on the tip of his boot.

"I am sure you are mistaken," said Flossy quietly. "But she is not demonstrative, and--well, I may as well say it to you--she has taken some idea into her head--something about me--about the past----"

She faltered skilfully; but she kept her eyes on Hubert's face, and saw that it wore a guilty look.

"Well, Flossy, you are right," he said. "She has heard something--village talk, I suppose--and I cannot get her to tell me what it is."

"She means perhaps to tell some one else?" said Mrs. Vane, with bitterness.

"No, I believe not. She has no wish to harm you, poor child, although she thinks that the General ought not to be deceived. However, I persuaded her to abandon that idea, showing her that it was not her duty to tell a thing that would so utterly destroy his happiness." Florence turned away her head. "I felt myself a villain," Hubert continued gravely, "in counseling her to stifle her conscientious scruples, Florence; but, for your sake and your husband's sake, I pleaded with her, and prevailed on her to keep silence--she will tell no one but myself after our marriage."

"You had better not let her open the subject with you at all. It will only be productive of unhappiness." Flossy discerned the entanglement at once--she saw that Hubert meant one thing and Enid another; but out of their cross-purposes she divined a way of keeping the girl silent. "For my sake Hubert, don't discuss my terrible past between you. What good would it do? Promise me that, when you are married, you will not let her speak of it--even to you." She shed a tear or two as she spoke.

"Poor Flossy!" said Hubert, laying his hand on her arm. "Don't grieve, dear! I have no right to say anything, have I? Yes, I promise you I will not let her say a word about the matter, either now or afterwards, if I can help it, and certainly to no one beside myself."

And with this promise Flossy feigned contentment. But, when Hubert had left her, she paced up and down the room with cheeks that flamed with excitement, and eyes that glowed with the dull red light of rage.

"What was I thinking about to bring this engagement to pass?" she said to herself. "Yet, after all, it is better so. Hubert has a reason for silencing her; with any other man, she would have the matter out in a trice, and ruin me. Now what is the next move? To delay the marriage, of course. I will come round prettily to the General's view, and uphold him in his determination not to allow the marriage for at least two years.

So Enid says that she will not betray me until she is married, does she?

Then she will never have the chance; for a great deal may happen--to a delicate girl like Enid Vane--in two long years."

CHAPTER XXV.