hange in
Mrs. Gallilee's manner, and was at a loss to understand it.

Mrs. Gallilee's maid Marceline belonged to a quick-tempered race: she
was a Jersey woman. It is not easy to say which of the two felt most
oppressed by their enforced companionship in the carriage.

The maid was perhaps the most to be pitied. Secretly drawn towards
Carmina like the other servants in the house, she was forced by her
mistress's private instruction, to play the part of a spy. "If the young
lady changes the route which the coachman has my orders to take, or if
she communicates with any person while your are out, you are to
report it to me." Mrs. Gallilee had not forgotten the discovery of the
travelling bag; and Mr. Mool's exposition of the law had informed her,
that the superintendence of Carmina was as much a matter of serious
pecuniary interest as ever.

But recent events had, in one respect at least, improved the prospect.

If Ovid (as his mother actually ventured to hope!) broke off his
engagement, when he heard the scandalous story of Carmina's birth,
there was surely a chance that she, like other girls of her sensitive
temperament, might feel the calamity that had fallen on her so acutely
as to condemn herself to a single life. Misled, partly by the hope of
relief from her own vile anxieties; partly by the heartless incapability
of appreciating generous feeling in others, developed by the pursuits
of her later life, Mrs. Gallilee seriously contemplated her son's future
decision as a matter of reasonable doubt.

In the meanwhile, this detestable child of adultery--this living
obstacle in the way of the magnificent prospects which otherwise awaited
Maria and Zoe, to say nothing of their mother--must remain in the
house, submitted to her guardian's authority, watched by her guardian's
vigilance. The hateful creature was still entitled to medical attendance
when she was ill, and must still be supplied with every remedy that the
doctor's ingenuity could suggest. A liberal allowance was paid for the
care of her; and the trustees were bound to interfere if it was not
fairly earned.

Looking after the carriage as it drove away--Marceline on the front
seat presenting the picture of discomfort; and Carmina opposite to
her, unendurably pretty and interesting, with the last new poem on
her lap--Mrs. Gallilee's reflections took their own bitter course.
"Accidents happen to other carriages, with other girls in them. Not to
my carriage, wi