for a moment speechless with
fright.

In very early youth we do not appreciate the restraints which act upon
malignity, or know how effectually fear protects us where conscience is
wanting. Quite alone, in this solitary spot, detected and overtaken with an
awful instinct by my enemy, what might not be about to happen to me at that
moment?

'Frightened as usual, Maud,' she said quietly, and eyeing me with a
sinister smile, 'and with cause you think, no doubt. Wat 'av you done to
injure poor Madame? Well, I think I know, little girl, and have quite
discover the cleverness of my sweet little Maud. Eh--is not so? Petite
carogne--ah, ha, ha!'

I was too much confounded to answer.

'You see, my dear cheaile,' she said, shaking her uplifted finger with a
hideous archness at me, 'you could not hide what you 'av done from poor
Madame. You cannot look so innocent but I can see your pretty little
villany quite plain--you dear little diablesse.

'Wat I 'av done I 'av no reproach of myself for it. If I could explain,
your papa would say I 'av done right, and you should thank me on your
knees; but I cannot explain yet.'

She was speaking, as it were, in little paragraphs, with a momentary pause
between each, to allow its meaning to impress itself.

'If I were to choose to explain, your papa he would implore me to remain.
But no--I would not--notwithstanding your so cheerful house, your charming
servants, your papa's amusing society, and your affectionate and sincere
heart, my sweet little maraude.

'I am to go to London first, where I 'av, oh, so good friends! next I will
go abroad for some time; but be sure, my sweetest Maud, wherever I may
'appen to be, I will remember you--ah, ha! Yes; _most certainly_, I will
remember you.

'And although I shall not be always near, yet I shall know everything
about my charming little Maud; you will not know how, but I shall indeed,
_everything_. And be sure, my dearest cheaile, I will some time be able to
give you the sensible proofs of my gratitude and affection--you understand.

'The carriage is waiting at the yew-tree stile, and I must go on. You did
not expect to see me--here; I will appear, perhaps, as suddenly another
time. It is great pleasure to us both--this opportunity to make our adieux.
Farewell! my dearest little Maud. I will never cease to think of you, and
of some way to recompense the kindness you 'av shown for poor Madame.'

My hand hung by my side, and she took, not