is life, he says, that he ever did such
a thing. The only one that's gone on the same as usual is the French
_chef_, and, of course, he doesn't care a bit about us English folk. All
he said when he heard about this was, "Vell, he got plenty money build
more barns; but if his dinner isn't to the minute he'll swear, and so
there it is, ready to dish." So pray make haste, Miss Sarah, for master's
sure to be upset easy to-night,' Naomi wound up.

'Naomi, was Jane Mary in this?' inquired Sarah abruptly.

It will be noticed that they both alluded to the incendiarism as 'this.'

Naomi replied, 'I couldn't say, Miss Sarah. I couldn't say anything for
certain about it, on any account.'

'You mean you won't; and that means that you don't trust me,' replied
Sarah.

'No, indeed, miss; I'd trust you as soon as I would myself. But it's the
real truth; I don't know anything, nor I won't know anything. And if I
was you I'd do the same. It'll be the safest way and the best in this
business,' Naomi told her earnestly.

Sarah sighed. 'It's going to be a bad business for those that do know
anything about it,' she said.

'It would have been worse if some of them had had their way,' observed
Naomi.

'Then you do know something about it?' exclaimed Sarah.

'I know what they're all talking about, but what's true and what's false
I couldn't tell you.'

'Is my mother dressed for dinner?' inquired Sarah suddenly, abandoning
the attempt to pump Naomi.

'No, Miss Sarah; the mistress has been lying down ever since she came in,
with Miss Horatia.'

'Lying down with Horatia?' ejaculated Sarah.

'I mean lying down, with Miss Horatia sitting beside her holding her hand
like a daughter,' Naomi corrected herself.

Sarah coloured violently, and Naomi wondered what made her do so. Poor
Sarah was being made to feel all round what a poor sort of daughter she
was, and she felt irritably that it was only since Horatia came that this
fact had been obvious. But Sarah was wrong. Her attitude towards her
parents had always been noticeable, and her brother and mother had
constantly upbraided her with it; but it was Horatia's coming which had
brought this home to her, and she did not like it.

'That will do, Naomi,' she said, giving an impatient tug to the sash that
the maid was tying, and she ran lightly down the corridors and the wide
marble staircase to the dining-room.

Mr and Mrs Clay and Horatia were all there, and dinner was begun; and
Sar