o here
I am, dear Cora."

"You wished to speak to me, you say?" inquired Mrs. Rothsay, drawing
another chair and seating herself before the fire.

"Yes, darling; only to say this, love, that I have not come here to
sponge upon your kindness. I will be no drone. I wish to be useful to
you, Cora. Now you are far away from all milliners and dress makers and
seamstresses, and I am very skillful with my needle and can do
everything you might wish to have done in that line--I mean in the way
of trimming and altering bonnets or dresses. I do not think I could cut
and fit."

"Mrs. Stillwater," interrupted Cora, "you are our guest, and you must
not think of such a plan as you suggest."

"Oh, my dear Cora, do not speak to me as if I were only company. I, your
old governess! Do not make a stranger of me. Let me be as one of the
family. Let me be useful to you and to your dear grandfather. Then I
shall feel at home; then I shall be happy," pleaded Rose.

"But, Mrs. Stillwater, we have not been accustomed to set our guests to
work. The idea is preposterous," said the inexorable Cora.

"Oh, my dear, do not treat me as a guest. Treat me as you did when I was
your governess. Make me useful; will you not, dear Cora?"

"You are very kind, but I would rather not trouble you."

"Ah, I see; you are tired and sleepy. I will not keep you up, but I must
make myself useful to you in some way. Well, good night, dear," said the
widow, as she stooped and kissed her hostess. Then she left the room.

CHAPTER XXIII.

THE SPELL WORKS.

Rose Stillwater was very near overdoing her part. She rose early the
next morning and came down in the drawing room before any of the family
had put in an appearance. She had scarcely seated herself before the
bright little sea coal fire that the chilly spring morning rendered very
acceptable, if not really necessary, when she heard the heavy, measured
footsteps of the master of the house coming down the stairs. Then she
rose impulsively as if in a flutter of delight to go and meet him; but
checked herself and sat down and waited for him to come in.

"How heavily the old ogre walks! His step would shake the house, if it
could be shaken. He comes like the statue of the commander in the
opera."

She listened, but his footsteps died away on the soft, deep carpet of
the library into which he passed.

"Ah! he does not know that I am down!" she said to herself,
complacently, as she settled back in he