w, breathing
peacefully, and the Doctor, being satisfied that no serious mischief had
happened to any of his family, meant to have it out with his
sister-in-law.

Mrs. Cameron was a very brave woman, or at least she considered herself
so; it was perfectly natural that people should fear her, she did not
object to a little wholesome awe on the parts of those who looked up to
her and depended on her words of wisdom. To be afraid on her own part
was certainly not her custom, and yet that evening, as she sat alone in
the deserted old drawing-room, and listened to the wind as it rose
fitfully and moaned through the belt of fir-trees that sheltered the
lawn; as she sat there, pretending to knit, but listening all the time
for footsteps which did not come, she did own to a feeling which she
would not describe as fear, but which certainly kept her from going to
bed, and made her feel somewhat uncomfortable.

It was about eleven o'clock that night when Dr. Maybright entered the
drawing-room. He was a tall man with a slight stoop, and his eyes looked
somewhat short-sighted. To-night, however, he walked in quickly, holding
himself erect. His eyes, too, had lost their peculiar expression of
nearness of vision, and Mrs. Cameron knew at once that she was in for a
bad time.

"And now, Maria, I want to know what is the meaning of all this," he
said, coming up close to her.

She was standing, having gathered up her knitting preparatory to
retiring.

"I don't understand you, Andrew," she answered, in a somewhat
complaining, but also slightly alarmed voice. "I think it is I who have
to ask for an explanation. How is it that I have been left alone this
entire evening? I had much to say to you--I came here on purpose, and
yet you left me to myself all these hours."

"Sit down, Maria," said the Doctor, more gently. "I can give you as much
time as you can desire now, and as you will be leaving in the morning it
is as well that we should have our talk out to-night."

Mrs. Cameron's face became now really crimson with anger.

"You can say words like that to me?" she said--"your wife's sister."

"My dear wife's half-sister, and until now my very good friend,"
retorted the Doctor. "But, however well you have meant it, you have sown
dissension and unhappiness in the midst of a number of motherless
children, and for the present at least, for all parties, I must ask you,
Maria, to return to Bath."

Mrs. Cameron sank now plump down into