ur preparations."

I stood like one stunned for a moment or two. Then I said: "If you
please, Mrs. Whitehead, may I see Miss Chinfeather before I go?"

Her thin, straight lips quivered slightly, but in her eyes I read only
cold disapproval of my request. "Really," she said, "what a singular
child you must be. I scarcely know what to say."

"Oh, if you please!" I urged. "Miss Chinfeather was always kind to me. I
remember her as long as I can remember anything. To see her once
more--for the last time. It would seem to me cruel to go away without."

"Follow me," she said, almost in a whisper. So I followed her softly up
stairs into the little corner room where Miss Chinfeather lay in white
and solemn state, grandly indifferent to all mundane matters. As I
gazed, it seemed but an hour ago since I had heard those still lips
conjugating the verb mourir for the behoof of poor ignorant me, and the
words came back to me, and I could not help repeating them to myself as
I looked: Je meurs, tu meurs, etc.

I bent over and kissed the marble-cold forehead and said farewell in my
heart, and went downstairs without a word.

Half-an-hour later the district coach, a splendid vision, pulled up
impetuously at the gates. I was ready to the moment. Mrs. Whitehead's
frosty fingers touched mine for an instant; she imprinted a chill kiss
on my cheek and looked relieved. "Good-bye, my dear Miss Hope, and God
bless you," she said. "Strive to bear in mind through after life the
lessons that have been instilled into you at Park Hill Seminary. Present
my respectful compliments to Lady Chillington, and do not forget your
catechism."

At this point the guard sounded an impatient summons on his bugle;
Chirper picked up my box, seized me by the hand, and hurried with me to
the coach. My luggage found a place on the roof; I was unceremoniously
bundled inside; Chirper gave me another of her hearty kisses, and
pressed a crooked sixpence into my hand "for luck," as she whispered. I
am sure there was a real tear in her eye as she did so. Next moment we
were off.

I kept my eyes fixed on the Seminary as long as it remained in view,
especially on the little corner room. It seemed to me that I must be a
very wicked girl indeed, because I felt no real sorrow at quitting the
place that had been my home for so many years. I could not feel anything
but secretly glad, but furtively happy with a happiness which I felt
ashamed of acknowledging even to myself