at
am I to do?"

"Go, I suppose," said Emma.

The girl grew nearer to her.

"Do you think it is true?" she asked. "I saw him driving her out
yesterday, and three days ago I saw his arm around her waist; but,
still, do you really think it is true, Emma?"

"It does not matter to us," said Emma.

"Yes, it does matter," persisted the other. "If it is really true, this
is no place for us; and if it be untrue, some one ought to put an end to
it. I have nothing but my character, and if that goes, all goes. Now, I
ask you to tell me, Emma, ought I to go or stay?"

My nurse was silent for some few minutes, then she said:

"You had better go. While missie and my lady stop here, I shall stay,
and when they go, I go. My duty is to them."

Then I raised my white, miserable face from the pillow.

"Do not say any more," I cried. "I am not asleep, and I understand it
all."

"Law, bless the dear young lady!" cried Alice, aghast. "I would not have
spoken for the world if I had known"--

But I interrupted her.

"It does not matter, Alice," I said. "You meant no harm, and I am old in
misery, though young in years."

The girl went away, and Emma flung herself on her knees before me.

"I am so sorry, Miss Laura," she began, "but I had not patience to
listen--my heart was full of one thing."

"Emma," I said, "tell me, do you think mamma really knows or suspects
any of these things?"

"No," was the quiet reply, "I do not. I will tell you why, Miss Laura.
If my lady even thought so, she would not allow Miss Reinhart to remain
in the house another hour with you."

"I am going to papa now, and I shall ask him to send my governess away,"
I said. "She shall not stop here."

CHAPTER XI.

My father had always been kind to me--he had never used a harsh word to
me. My heart was full--it was almost bursting--when I went to him. The
shame, the degradation, the horror, were full upon me. Surely he would
hear reason. I dared not stop to think. I hastened to him. I flung my
arms round his neck and hid my face upon his breast. My passionate sobs
frightened him at first.

"My dearest Laura, what is the matter?" he asked.

"Papa, send Miss Reinhart away," I cried; "do send her away. We were so
happy before she came, and mamma was happy. Can you not see there is a
black shadow hanging over the house? Send it away--be as you were before
she came. Oh, papa, she has taken you from us."

When I told him what I had heard he look