for me, but papa gave it to me all
the same. I always had breakfast with him then."

"And why do you not now?" asked Lady Isabel.

"I don't know. I have not since mamma came."

The word "stepmother" rose up rebelliously in the heart of Lady Isabel.
Was Mrs. Carlyle putting away the children from their father?

Breakfast over, she gathered them to her, asking them various questions
about their studies, their hours of recreation, the daily routine of
their lives.

"This is not the schoolroom, you know," cried William, when she made
some inquiry as to their books.

"No?"

"The schoolroom is upstairs. This is for our meals, and for you in an
evening."

The voice of Mr. Carlyle was heard at this juncture in the hall, and
Lucy was springing toward the sound. Lady Isabel, fearful lest he might
enter if the child showed herself, stopped her with a hurried hand.

"Stay here, Isabel."

"Her name's Lucy," said William, looking quickly up. "Why do you call
her Isabel?"

"I thought--thought I had heard her called Isabel," stammered the
unfortunate lady, feeling quite confused with the errors she was
committing.

"My name is Isabel Lucy," said the child; "but I don't know who
could have told you, for I am never called Isabel. I have not been
since--since--shall I tell you?--since mamma went away," she concluded,
dropping her voice. "Mamma that was, you know."

"Did she go?" cried Lady Isabel, full of emotion, and possessing a very
faint idea of what she was saying.

"She was kidnapped," whispered Lucy.

"Kidnapped!" was the surprised answer.

"Yes, or she would not have gone. There was a wicked man on a visit to
papa, and he stole her. Wilson said she knew he was a kidnapper before
he took mamma. Papa said I was never to be called Isabel again, but
Lucy. Isabel was mamma's name."

"How do you know papa said it?" dreamily returned Lady Isabel.

"I heard him. He said it to Joyce, and Joyce told the servants. I put
only Lucy to my copies. I did put Isabel Lucy, but papa saw it one day,
and he drew his pencil through Isabel, and told me to show it to Miss
Manning. After that, Miss Manning let me put nothing but Lucy. I asked
her why, and she told me papa preferred the name, and that I was not to
ask questions."

She could not well stop the child, but every word was rending her heart.

"Lady Isabel was our very, very own mamma," pursued Lucy. "This mamma is
not."

"Do you love this one as you did the other?"