le Park; her uncle's long illness; her dependence for education
on the library and its store of books, and the good offices of the
clergyman of the little parish, who gave her lessons in Latin, and such
Italian as he knew. Needlecraft and embroidery she had learned from his
wife; and she was an accomplished needlewoman.

It was a haphazard education, but Griselda's natural gifts made her able
to adapt it to her needs; and she was a self-cultured woman, who lived
her own life apart from the frivolity of Lady Betty, to whom, as she
said, she was simply an appendage.

Then there was the closing of Longueville Park till the heir returned
from the Grand Tour; for, in spite of Lady Betty's wiles and effusive
letters, the heir made it very evident that he did not desire her to
remain at the Park till his return in a year or two, as Lady Betty
fondly hoped.

Then the little widow made the best of the circumstances, and set forth
with David and Graves to see the world.

This was two years ago now, and the interval had been filled up with a
few months in Dublin, a short sojourn at the Bristol Hot Wells, and
then, in the October of 1779, the house on the North Parade, Bath, was
taken, where Lady Betty emerged from her weeds, dropping them as the
butterfly drops the chrysalis, and floating off into the world of
fashion, with Griselda as her "sweet friend," and "pet," and protegee,
but never as her "niece."

From time to time Griselda gave up meditation, and stationed herself at
the window. The small panes, set in thick frames, were dim with
moisture. The fields before her, which stretched to the hills, were
reeking with damp. The hills themselves, and the houses and terraces
which the day before had laughed in the sunshine, were now hidden, or
only seen gray and black through the driving rain.

No grand chariots, with red-coated post-boys, swept round the corner
from South Parade, drawing up with a flourish at a door near. Very few
people were out in the dim wet streets, and only a few disconsolate
patients were conveyed at intervals by drenched and surly chair-men to
and from the Pump Room, the water dripping from the roofs of the chairs,
and the men's feet making a dull sound on the wet pavements, or on the
miry road below.

Soon a panic seized Griselda that perhaps that letter had been a little
premature. Was it possible that Leslie Travers could think her
unmaidenly to write as she had done?

The thought was torture,