smile passed over his face.

I remember when he used to laugh, and say that it was a pleasure to give
up anything to be with my mother. Now he began to pace up and down the
room while she looked after him with pitiful eyes. Suddenly she rose,
and, going up to him, laid her hand on his arm. She gazed earnestly into
his face.

"Why stay away, Sir Roland? I am sure you might go if you would. I will
take care of Lady Tayne. I do not see that you need be anxious, or that
there is the least need for giving up the party; let me persuade you to
go."

"It seems unkind to leave Lady Tayne," he said. "I have never left her
for so long, and never alone."

"If you will trust her to me, I will take the greatest care of her,"
said Miss Reinhart; "and I am sure, quite sure, that if Lady Tayne knew,
she would insist on it--she would indeed. She would be the last to wish
you to give up every pleasure for her sake."

It was the thin end of the wedge, but she succeeded in driving it in.

He went. It was the first time he had left my mother, but by no means
the last. He went himself to tell her that he had decided on going. She
was most amiable and unselfish, and told him what was perfectly
true--that she was delighted, and that if he would begin to go out
without her she would be most happy. I know that she was unselfishly
glad, yet her sweet face was paler that night than usual; and once more
I felt sure that there were tears in her eyes.

My father's visit was prolonged for a whole week, and very much he
enjoyed it. He wrote home every day; but it did not seem natural to me
that Miss Reinhart should be waiting for him in the hall, or that he
should tell her all about his visit long before he went to my mother's
room.

But it was so, and my poor, dear mother did not know it.

CHAPTER VIII.

The first real rebellion, and the first time that the eyes of people
were opened to the amount of influence and authority that Miss Reinhart
had acquired in Tayne Hall. One or two domestic matters had gone
wrong--nothing very much, but dinner was late several times, and the
household machinery did not seem to run on as it had done. My father
complained; the cook did not evidently take so much pains.

"There is no one to look after her," he said, with a deep sigh.

Miss Reinhart responded by another.

"Dear Sir Roland, can I help you--may I help you?" she explained. "Your
housekeeper is too old; you will never do any good until y