th the terms of the telegram, and Phoebe did not complain. But her
despondency was very evident, and Miss Anna was extremely sorry for
her. In her restlessness she presently said that she would go out to
the ghyll and sit by the water a little. If anybody came, they were to
shout for her. She would only be a stone's throw from the house.

She went away along the fell-side, her head drooping--so tall and
thin, in her plain dress of grey Carmelite and her mushroom hat
trimmed with black.

Miss Anna looked after her. She knew very little indeed, as yet,
of what it was that had really brought the poor thing home. Her
own fault, no doubt. Phoebe would have poured out her soul, without
reserve, on that first night of her return to her old home. But Miss
Anna had entirely refused to allow it. 'No, no!' she had said, even
putting her hand on the wife's trembling lips; 'you shan't tell me.
Keep that for John--it's his right. If you've got a confession--it
belongs to _John_!'

On the other hand, of the original crisis--of the scene in
Bernard Street, the spoilt picture, and the letters of Madame de
Pastourelles--Miss Anna had let Phoebe tell her what she pleased;
and in truth--although Phoebe seemed to be no longer of a similar
opinion--it appeared to the ex-schoolmistress that John had a good
deal to explain--John and the French lady. If people are not married,
and not relations, they have no reasonable call whatever to write each
other long and interesting letters. In spite of her education and
her reading, Miss Anna's standards in these respects were the small,
Puritanical standards of the English country town.

The gate leading to the steep pitch of lane opened and shut. Miss Anna
rose hastily and looked out.

A lady in black entered the little garden, walked up to the door, and
knocked timidly. Was this the 'messenger'? Miss Anna hurried into the
little hall.

'Is Mrs. Fenwick in?' asked a very musical voice.

'Mrs. Fenwick is sitting a little way off on the fell,' said Miss
Anna, advancing. 'But I can call her directly. What name, please?'

The lady took out her card.

'It's a French name,' she said, with smiling apology, handing it to
Miss Anna.

Miss Anna glanced at it, and then at the bearer.

'Kindly step this way,' she said, pointing to the parlour, and holding
her grey-capped head rather impressively high.

Madame de Pastourelles obeyed her, murmuring that she had sent her
carriage on to the Dungeon Gh