g
sight of the parcel containing the gloves.

Nancy did not answer; she was looking at the round table, which was
covered with the shining brass ornaments which had been removed from the
chimney-piece in the search for the missing coin. There they
were--candlesticks, pans, snuffer-tray, and beer-warmer, articles she
remembered from earliest childhood as never in use, and always highly
polished. Now as the firelight flickered upon them they seemed to be
looking at the distracted girl with countless fiery eyes which twinkled
in malice. Nancy could not take her eyes from these other eyes, she
could not think for the moment. She vaguely knew that her mother took
away her parcel, and presently Mrs. Forest's rasping voice recalled her
from her stupefied reverie.

"So you spent it in gloves, did you? Six-buttoned ones, too--! Oh, you
ungrateful, selfish, wasteful girl."

"Mother, mother," wailed Nancy, taking hold of Mrs. Forest's gown with
one hand convulsively, while she pressed the other to her brow, where
her wavy locks of hair lay all damp and ruffled. "You _should_
believe--you _must_ believe me--Miss Michin gave me the gloves--I have
never seen your money--oh, mother, I couldn't have touched it--I
_couldn't_."

"Don't add lies to it," broke out Mrs. Forest in a greater passion than
ever.

Than this last remark, nothing could have easily been more unjust. Nancy
had always been a very truthful child.

"If you can no longer trust me, it is perhaps better for me--to--to go
away," said Nancy, softly.

"Yes--go--go now," replied her mother, who had arrived at that stage of
rage when people use words little heeding their meaning.

Nancy buttoned her little jacket once more, and tied a silk handkerchief
round her neck, and passed out at the door in a wild, hurried fashion.

Mrs. Forest looked at the door and smiled. "She'll none go," she said to
herself; "where could she go _to_?"

But Nancy did not resemble her mother in hasty moods, she was rather the
subject of permanent impressions. Her mother's conduct had wounded her
to the quick. She could no longer endure it, she thought. Hitherto, her
father's love had rendered it bearable--but now, even that seemed
powerless to keep her under the same roof as her mother. Where could she
go? She would walk on, no matter in what direction; then, when she could
walk no more, she might perhaps be calm enough to think.

IV.

"Where is Nan?" asked John Forest, when he ente