that savoured of
reproach--and advanced into the middle of the room, where she stood
silent, waiting to be accused.

It was twelve o'clock on the morning of a bright, cold November
day. Mrs. Heron was lying on the sofa in the dining-room--a
shabbily-comfortable, old-fashioned room where most of the business of
the house was transacted. Kitty sat on a low chair before the fire,
warming her little, cold hands. She had a cat on her lap, and a novel on
the floor beside her, and looked very young, very pretty, and very idle.
Percival was fidgetting about the room with a glum and sour expression
of countenance. He was evidently much out of sorts, both in body and
mind, for his face was unusually sallow in tint, and there was a dark,
upright line between his brows which his relations knew and--dreaded.
The genial, sunshiny individual of a few evenings back had disappeared,
and a decidedly bad-tempered young man now took his place.

Mrs. Heron's pretty, pale face wore an unaccustomed flush; and as she
looked at Elizabeth the tears came into her blue eyes, and she pressed
them mildly with her handkerchief. Elizabeth waited in patience; she was
not sure of the side from which the attack would be made, but she was
sure that it was coming. Percival, with his hands thrust deep into his
pockets, leaned against a sideboard, and looked at her with disfavour.
She was paler than usual, and there were dark lines beneath her eyes.
What made her look like that! Percival thought to himself. One might
fancy that she had been lying awake all night, if the thing were not
(under the circumstances) well-nigh impossible! But perhaps it was only
her ill-fitting, unbecoming, old, serge gown that made her look so pale.
Percival was in the humour to see all her faults and defects that
morning.

"Why do you carry that great boy about?" he said, almost harshly. "You
know that he is too big to be carried. Do put him down."

"Yes, put him down, Elizabeth," said Mrs. Heron, still pressing her
handkerchief to her eye. "I am sure I have no desire to inflict any
hardship upon you. If you devoted yourself to my children, I thought
that it was from choice and because you had an affection for your
uncle's family. But you seem to have had no affection--no respect--no
confidence----"

A gentle sob cut short her words.

"What have I done?" said Elizabeth. Her face had turned a shade paler
than before, but betrayed no sign of confusion. "Lie still, Jack; I do