ing up the steps two at a time with her old springy footstep.

Rebecca followed her, and noticing the change, interpreted it in her own
narrow fashion.

"You seems cheerful enough now," she said, standing at Kate's door and
looking into her room, with a bitter smile on her lips. "To-morrow is
Saturday. That's what's the matter with you."

"To-morrow Saturday!" Kate repeated in astonishment.

"Yes; you know what I mean well enough. It's no use pretending that you
don't."

The girl's manner was so aggressive that Kate was astonished.
"I haven't the least idea of what you mean," she said.

"Oh no," cried Rebecca, with her arms akimbo and a sneer on her face.
"She doesn't know what I mean. She doesn't know that her young man is
coming down on the Saturday. She does not know that Mr. Ezra comes all
the way from London on that day just for to see her. It isn't that that
makes you cheerful, is it? Oh, you double face!" The girl's pretty
features were all distorted with malice as she spoke, and her two hands
were clenched passionately.

"Rebecca!" cried Kate energetically, "I really think that you are the
most complete fool that ever I met in my life. I will trouble you to
remember that I am your mistress and you are my servant. How dare you
speak to me in such a way? Leave my room this instant!"

The girl stood her ground as though she intended to brazen it out, but
Kate swept towards her with so much honest anger in her voice, and such
natural dignity in her bearing, that she sank her bold gaze, and with a
few muttered words slunk away into her own room. Kate closed the door
behind her, and then, her sense of the ludicrous overpowering her anger,
she laughed for the first time since she had been in the Priory. It was
so intensely ridiculous that even the most foolish of mortals should
imagine that she could, under any circumstances, be desirous of seeing
Ezra Girdlestone. The very thought of him brought her amusement to an
end, for the maid was right, and to-morrow would bring him down once
more. Perhaps her friends might arrive before he did. God grant it!

It was a cold but a bright day. From her window she could see the
snow-white sails of the Hampshire fishing-boats dipping and rising
against the deep blue sea. A single barque rode amongst them, like a
swan among ducklings, beating up against the wind for Portsmouth or
Southampton. Away on the right was the long line of white foam which
marked