ctions
upon anything,' said Mrs. Fanshawe, deciding that at least she should
make no mischief by sacrificing poor Marianne.

Isabel did not like to come to more individual inquiries, lest she
should prepare discomfort for Charlotte; but she easily satisfied
herself that all was as right as convenient, and having occasion to
write some orders to Charlotte, communicated the proposal, saying that
all should be settled on her return.

There was wild work in the brain of the poor little Lady of Eschalott.
No more stairs to scrub! No more mats to shake! No more hurrying
after lost time, and an uneasy remembrance of undone duties! No more
hardening of fingers, no more short-sleeved lilac, no more vulgarities
from the cook! Ladylike dress, high wages, work among flowers and
gauzes, reading to Miss Louisa, housekeeper's-room society, rank as
'Arnold' or 'Miss Arnold!' How much more suitable to the betrothed of
the Superintendent at San Benito! To be sure, she was aware that a
serpent lurked among the flowers; but she had shown him a bit of her
mind once, and she found she could take care of herself, and keep him
at a distance.

With her eyes shut, she already beheld Jane Beckett meeting her, when
seated at the back of a carriage, with a veil and a parasol, addressing
her as a grand lady, and kissing and praising her when she found her
little Charlotte after all.

CHAPTER XIV.

THE TRUSTEES' MEETING.

Know you not, master, to some kind of men
Their graces serve them but as enemies?
As You Like It.

'My Lord,' said Frampton, entering the library late one evening, in
visible perturbation, and addressing himself to Fitzjocelyn, 'there is
a person wishing to see you.'

'What person at this time of night?' said Louis.

'In fact, my Lord,' said the butler, hesitating, 'it is the young
person at Mr. Frost's.'

'Something must be the matter!' cried Louis, starting up.

'She would explain nothing to me, she insisted on seeing your lordship;
and--in fact--she was in such a state of agitation that I left her with
Mrs. Bowles.'

Louis lost no time in hurrying into the hall. Charlotte must have
followed Frampton without his knowledge, for she was already there;
and, springing with clasped hands towards Fitzjocelyn, she cried,
sobbing, 'My Lord, my Lord, come to master!'

'Is he ill? or the children?'

'No, no! but he'll be off, he'll be off like poor Tom!' exclaimed
Charlotte,