vered to the governess, as she jerked
Archie out of the room, along the passage, and into the nursery. Lady
Isabel sat down with a wrung heart, a chafed spirit. Her own child! And
she might not say to the servant, you shall not beat him.

She descended to the gray parlor. The two older children and breakfast
were waiting; Joyce quitted the room when she entered it.

A graceful girl of eight years old, a fragile boy a year younger,
both bearing her once lovely features--her once bright and delicate
complexion--her large, soft brown eyes. How utterly her heart yearned
to them; but there must be no scene like there had just been above.
Nevertheless she stooped and kissed them both--one kiss each of
impassioned fervor. Lucy was naturally silent, William somewhat
talkative.

"You are our new governess," said he.

"Yes. We must be good friends."

"Why not!" said the boy. "We were good friends with Miss Manning. I am
to go into Latin soon--as soon as my cough's gone. Do you know Latin?"

"No--not to teach it," she said, studiously avoiding all endearing
epithets.

"Papa said you would be almost sure not to know Latin, for that ladies
rarely did. He said he should send up Mr. Kane to teach me."

"Mr. Kane?" repeated Lady Isabel, the name striking upon her memory.
"Mr. Kane, the music-master?"

"How did you know he was a music-master?" cried shrewd William. And Lady
Isabel felt the red blood flush to her face at the unlucky admission she
had made. It flushed deeper at her own falsehood, as she muttered some
evasive words about hearing of him from Mrs. Latimer.

"Yes, he is a music-master; but he does not get much money at it, and
he teaches the classics as well. He has come up to teach us music since
Miss Manning left; mamma said that we ought not to lose our lessons."

Mamma! How the word, applied to Barbara, grated on her ear.

"Whom does he teach?" she asked.

"Us two," replied William, pointing to his sister and himself.

"Do you always take bread and milk?" she inquired, perceiving that to be
what they were eating.

"We get tired of it sometimes and then we have milk and water, and bread
and butter, or honey; and then we take to bread and milk again. It's
Aunt Cornelia who thinks we should eat bread and milk for breakfast. She
says papa never had anything else when he was a boy."

Lucy looked up.

"Papa would give me an egg when I breakfasted with him," cried she, "and
Aunt Cornelia said it was not good