miss, I don't want no husband nor no children, I only want you for
my missus. And when you come of age, will you live here, miss?"

"No, Phoebe. The Abbey House will belong to mamma all her life. Poor
mamma! may it be long before the dear old house comes to me. But when I
am of age, and my own mistress I shall find a place somewhere in the
Forest, you may be sure of that, Phoebe."

Phoebe dried her honest tears, and made haste with the packing,
believing that Miss Tempest was leaving home for her own pleasure, and
that she, Phoebe, was the only victim of adverse fate.

The day wore on quickly, though it was laden with sorrow. Vixen had a
great deal to do in her den; papers to look over, old letters,
pen-and-ink sketches, and scribblings of all kinds to destroy, books
and photographs to pack. There were certain things she could not leave
behind her. Then there was a melancholy hour to spend in the stable,
feeding, caressing, and weeping over Arion, who snorted his tenderest
snorts, and licked her hands with abject devotion--almost as if he knew
they were going to part, Vixen thought.

Last of all came the parting with her mother. Vixen had postponed this
with an aching dread of a scene, in which she might perchance lose her
temper, and be betrayed into bitter utterances that she would
afterwards repent with useless tears. She had spoken the truth to her
stepfather when she told him that she held her mother blameless; yet
the fact that she had but the smallest share in that mother's heart was
cruelly patent to her.

It was nearly four o'clock in the afternoon when Pauline came to
Violet's room with a message from Mrs. Winstanley. She had been very
ill all the morning, Pauline informed Miss Tempest, suffering severely
from nervous headache, and obliged to lie in a darkened room. Even now
she was barely equal to seeing anyone.

"Then she had better not see me," said Vixen icily; "I can write her a
little note to say good-bye. Perhaps it would be just as well. Tell
mamma that I will write, Pauline."

Pauline departed with this message, and returned in five minutes with a
distressed visage.

"Oh, miss!" she exclaimed, "your message quite upset your poor mamma.
She said, 'How could she?' and began to get almost hysterical. And
those hysterical fits end in such fearful headaches."

"I will come at once," said Vixen.

Mrs. Winstanley was lying on a sofa near an open window, the Spanish
blinds lowered to exclude the a