s arrival, Miss Vanbrugh had summoned her chief
state-councillor, Olive Rothesay, to talk over the matter. Then and
there, Meliora unfolded all she knew and all she guessed of the girl's
history. How much of this was to be communicated to Christal she wished
Olive to decide: and Olive, remembering what had passed between them
on the first night of her coming, advised that, unless Christal herself
imperatively demanded to know, there should be maintained on the subject
a kindly silence.

"Her parents are dead, of that she is persuaded," Olive urged. "Whoever
they were, they have carefully provided for her. If they erred or
suffered, let neither their sin nor their sorrow go down to their
child."

"It shall be so," said the good Meliora. And since Christal asked no
further questions--and, indeed, her lively nature seemed unable to
receive any impressions save of the present--the subject was not again
referred to.

But the time came when the little household must be broken up. Mr.
Vanbrugh announced that in one fortnight he must leave Woodford Cottage,
on his journey to Rome. He never thought of such mundane matters as
letting the house, or disposing of the furniture; he left all those
things to his active little sister, who was busy from morning till
night--ay, often again from night till morning. When Michael commanded
anything, it must be done, if within human possibility; and there never
was any one to do it but Meliora. She did it, always;--how, he never
asked or thought. He was so accustomed to her ministrations that he
no more noticed them than he did the daylight. Had the light suddenly
gone--then--Michael Vanbrugh would have known what it once had been.

Ere the prescribed time had quite expired, Miss Vanbrugh announced that
all was arranged for their leaving Woodford Cottage. Her brother had
nothing to do but to pack up his easels and his pictures; and this
duty was quite absorbing enough to one who had no existence beyond his
painting-room.

There was one insuperable difficulty, which perplexed Meliora. What was
to be done with Christal Manners? She troubled herself about the matter
night and day. At last she hinted something of it to the girl herself.
And 'Miss Manners at once decided the question by saying, "I will not go
to Rome."

She was of a strange disposition, as they had already found out. With
all her volatile gaiety, when she chose to say, "I will!" she was as firm
as a rock. No persuasions--n