I am ashamed of, Madam," said I,
reddening with anger.

"I declare I don't know you as the Digby of long ago! I fancied I did,
when I heard those ladies coming upstairs each night, so charmed with
all your graceful gifts, and so eloquent over all your fascinations; and
now, as you stand there, word-splitting and phrase-weighing, canvassing
what it might cost you to do this or where it would lead you to say
that, I ask myself, Is this the boy of whom his father said, 'Above all
things he shall be a gentleman'?"

"To one element of that character, Madam, I will try and preserve my
claim,--no provocation shall drive me to utter a rudeness to a lady."

"This is less breeding than calculation, young gentleman. I read such
natures as yours as easily as a printed book."

"I ask nothing better, Madam; my only fear would be that you should
mistake me, and imagine that any deference to my father's views would
make me forget my mother's rights."

"So then," cried she, with a mocking laugh, "you have got your courage
up so far,--you dare me! Be advised, however, and do not court such
an unequal contest. I have but to choose in which of a score of ways I
could crush you,--do you mark me? crush you! You will not always be as
lucky as you were this morning in the riding-school."

"Great heaven!" cried I, "was this, then, of _your_ devising?"

"You begin to have a glimpse of whom you have to deal with? Go back to
your room and reflect on that knowledge, and if it end in persuading you
to quit this place at once, and never return to it, it will be a wise
resolve."

I was too much occupied with the terrible fact that she had already
conspired against my life to heed her words of counsel, and I stood
there stunned and confused.

In the look of scorn and hate she threw on me, she seemed to exult over
my forlorn and bewildered condition.

"I scarcely think there is any need to prolong this interview," said
she, at last, with an easy smile; "each of us is by this time aware of
the kindly sentiments of the other; is it not so?"

"I am going, Madam," I stammered out; "good-bye."

She made a slight movement, as I thought, towards me; but it was in
reality the prelude to a deep courtesy, while in her sweetest of accents
she whispered, "_Au revoir_, Monsieur Digby, _au revoir_." I bowed
deeply and withdrew.

CHAPTER XXX. HASTY TIDINGS

Of all the revulsions of feeling that can befall the heart, I know of
none to compare in