erness. I'd
rather go to school. I should like to go to school. My mind's quite
changed about all that, only I haven't the heart to tell papa. I don't
know what's come to me, I don't seem to have heart enough for anything
now; and when papa takes me on his knee in the evening, and says, 'Let's
have a talk, Neelie,' he makes me cry. Would you mind breaking it to
him, mamma, that I've changed my mind, and I want to go to school?" The
tears rose thickly in her eyes, and she failed to see that her mother
never even turned on the pillow to look round at her.

"Yes, yes," said Mrs. Milroy, vacantly. "You're a good girl; you shall
go to school."

The cruel brevity of the reply, and the tone in which it was spoken,
told Neelie plainly that her mother's attention had been wandering
far away from her, and that it was useless and needless to prolong the
interview. She turned aside quietly, without a word of remonstrance.
It was nothing new in her experience to find herself shut out from her
mother's sympathies. She looked at her eyes in the glass, and, pouring
out some cold water, bathed her face. "Miss Gwilt shan't see I've been
crying!" thought Neelie, as she went back to the bedside to take her
leave. "I've tired you out, mamma," she said, gently. "Let me go now;
and let me come back a little later when you have had some rest."

"Yes," repeated her mother, as mechanically as ever; "a little later
when I have had some rest."

Neelie left the room. The minute after the door had closed on her, Mrs.
Milroy rang the bell for her nurse. In the face of the narrative she had
just heard, in the face of every reasonable estimate of probabilities,
she held to her own jealous conclusions as firmly as ever. "Mr. Armadale
may believe her, and my daughter may believe her," thought the furious
woman. "But I know the major; and she can't deceive _me_!"

The nurse came in. "Prop me up," said Mrs. Milroy. "And give me my desk.
I want to write."

"You're excited," replied the nurse. "You're not fit to write."

"Give me the desk," reiterated Mrs. Milroy.

"Anything more?" asked Rachel, repeating her invariable formula as she
placed the desk on the bed.

"Yes. Come back in half an hour. I shall want you to take a letter to
the great house."

The nurse's sardonic composure deserted her for once. "Mercy on us!"
she exclaimed, with an accent of genuine surprise. "What next? You don't
mean to say you're going to write--?"

"I am going to w