and
aggravating gesture.

"Ah, my dear," she said, "you must try to keep under that jealous
temperament. Jealousy fostered in the heart overshadows and overclouds
all life. Be warned in time."

"About this child," said Helen, drawing Firefly forward, "what is to be
done about her? You will be lenient, won't you, Aunt Maria, for she is
very young?"

"By the way," said Mrs. Cameron, with the manner of one who had not
heard a word of Helen's last speech, "is this naughty little girl
attached to her father?"

Firefly raised her tear-dimmed face.

"He is my darling----" she began.

"Ah, yes, my dear; I detest exaggerated expressions. If you love him,
you can now prove it. You would not, for instance, wish to give him
anxiety, or to injure him?"

"Oh, no, oh, no! I would rather die."

"Again that sentimental exaggeration; but you shall prove your words. If
you have not confessed to me before three o'clock to-day all you know
about the loss of my treasured dog Scorpion, I shall take you into your
father's sick room, and in his presence dare you to keep your wicked
secret to yourself any longer."

"Oh, you don't mean that," said Firefly. "You can't be so awfully cruel.
Nell, Nell, do say that Aunt Maria doesn't mean that."

The child was trembling violently; her little face was white as death,
her appealing eyes would have softened most hearts.

"Oh, Nell, what shall I do if I make father worse again? For I can't
tell what I know; it would be a lie to tell it, and you said yourself,
Nell, that no Maybright told lies."

Mrs. Cameron smiled grimly.

"I have said it," she remarked; "it all rests with yourself, Firefly. I
shall be ready either to hear your confession or to take you to your
father at three o'clock to-day."

With these words the good lady walked out of the room.

CHAPTER XVII.

TO THE RESCUE.

An hour later a wildly anxious and disconsolate little figure might have
been seen knocking at Polly's door. No answer from within. A moment of
suspense on the part of the little figure, followed by another and
louder knock; then the small, nervous fingers turned the handle of the
door, and Firefly pushed her head in and peered anxiously round.

Oh, dear! oh, dear! No Polly was in the room. And why did the great
eight-day clock in the hall strike twelve? Why, on this morning of all
mornings, should time go on wings? Firefly had great faith in Polly's
powers of helping her. But the moments were t