mother. He said Mrs. Eastwood could have a cottage on
the estate, and he should allow her a sufficient income to live upon.
She could come to the Abbey when she liked to call on my mother, and
might be as happy as possible. It was not just to the other servants, or
even to themselves, he said, to keep one in such a position who was
really too old to fulfill the duties.

My mother said nothing. It must be just as my father pleased. But when
he added that Miss Reinhart thought it the best thing possible, she
turned away her face and said no more.

CHAPTER IX.

How the shadow fell, I cannot quite remember--how people first began to
find out there was something wrong at Tayne Hall. Mrs. Eastwood, after a
long interview with my mother, had gone away to the cottage, and Miss
Reinhart had brought some person, whom she appeared to know very well,
on the scene.

Many of the servants would believe that the new housekeeper was the
governess' mother--there was a certain similarity of face and figure
between them; whether it was so or not, mattered little. From the hour
that Mrs. Stone entered the house my dear mother's rule may be said to
have ended; from that time domestic management may be summed up in a few
words--constant opposition to my mother's wishes and constant,
flattering attention to those of my father. If my mother missed the
little dainties that Mrs. Eastwood had lavished on her, my father
appreciated to the full the comfortable arrangements, the punctuality
over dinner, the bright and fresh appearance of everything. Nor was Miss
Reinhart slow in reminding him that he owed all this extra comfort to
her selection of a good housekeeper.

It was but natural to suppose that Mrs. Stone looked upon the governess
as the highest authority in the house after Sir Roland; she never
appealed or applied to any one else; she never, I should say, even
remembered the existence of my mother. As for any reference to her, she
never thought of it. Hundreds of times, when I have been busy with my
lessons, she has come to the study, and, rapping at the door, has asked
to speak to my governess. I could hear her plainly saying: "Do you
think Sir Roland would like this?" And they would consult most eagerly
about it. I never once heard my name mentioned.

"Miss Reinhart," I asked her one morning. "Why do you never think or
speak of my mother? Mrs. Stone never inquires what she would like."

In the blandest tone of voice she rep