are mainly contracted, was one reason of this,
while another was to be found in their poverty.
Since the time of their marriage they had been
so continually engaged in the struggle necessary
to make both ends meet, that they had had little
leisure for forming acquaintances, which could
also only be kept up by means of an increased
expenditure. An English governess, who had
lived with the Descartes family for many years,
and who was now settled in London, was almost
the only friend whom Gabrielle possessed.

So, being alone that evening, poor Mrs. Penmore
brooded over her troubles, and made them
out in consequence much worse than they were.
Miss Carrington was her guest, she reflected,
and, as such, had the greatest, of claims on her
forbearance. Then, she had lately appeared to
be in very indifferent health, and that might
very well be partly the reason of her being
cross-grained and unkind. Then, Gabrielle
thought of the advances which this lady had
made to Gilbert, and this, certainly, could not
be accounted for, or excused by, illness, or
aught else; but then came another consideration
might not she herself have been mistaken
about these same advances, and might she not
have attributed to Miss Carrington feelings
which had never entered that lady's head? She
was Gilbert's cousin, and did not that justify
her in adopting a somewhat affectionate tone?

And now this gentle soul began to think to
herself how much she should like to be reconciled
to her enemy, and to speak to her some
few words of a more kindly sort than those
which they had last exchanged. And yet what
a difficult thing this would be to manage! They
had parted in anger. Such words had passed
between them as would make their next meeting
a very awkward one, to say the least. Indeed,
she had no reason to believe that Miss Carrington
would consent to another meeting. How
could it be arranged? Should she send up and
ask whether Miss Carrington would receive
her? The probable answer would be that she
was too much indisposed to do so.

Mrs. Penmore pondered for a long time over
all sorts of different schemes of reconciliation,
rejecting one after another. At last she hit upon
one that found favour in her eyes.

It has been mentioned, in a former chapter,
that it was always Miss Carrington's custom to
partake of some refreshment—something in the
shape of supper—the last thing at night. Sometimes
it would be a basin of broth, sometimes
cold meat, or sometimes only bread and cheese
and porter. This last was never omitted, as it
had been medically rescribed for her.

This meal was always taken up-stairs by the
faithful Miss Cantanker, and at nine o'clock
every night she was to be encountered on the
stairs bearing the tray, and in a state of great
importance. It was in connexion with this
ceremonial that an idea entered the mind of
Mrs. Penmore on which she determined to act
without delay. She rose from her chair, and,
opening the door of the room in which she had
been sitting, passed out into the little passage.

Ah, Gabrielle Penmore, go back! Abstain
from that which you are about to do. Cast
from you, as you would a dangerous reptile,
that thought which has come into your mind.
Act not upon it! Go back and shut the door
of the room upon yourself, and sit there quietly
till your husband comes; for know, that if you go
on with that which you are about to do, the
consequences will involve both you and him in misery
such as you have, neither of you, known before.

But Gabrielle went on her way without
misgiving or fear. She descended the stairs, and
arrived before the kitchen door, paused for a
moment; for she was, as many young house-keepers
are, rather afraid of the kitchen. Then
she tapped gently at the door, and went in.

Miss Cantanker, with a very red face, was
standing over the fire preparing some eggs,
while the wretched Charlotte, with her mouth
wide open, as it always was when in the presence
of her tormentor, stood by holding the
light, and, indeed, everything else that was
likely to be wanted for the culinary process in
which the Cantankerous one was engaged.

Cantanker turned hastily round when Mrs.
Penmore entered, and Charlotte dropped the
extinguisher, the snuffers, and a buttery knife
with a crash like a salute.

"You are preparing Miss Carrington's supper,
are you not?" asked Gabrielle, addressing
the heated lady. Miss Cantanker had Charlotte
to reprove before she could trouble herself about
Charlotte's mistress.

"You stupid, gawky owl," she said, "drop-
ping things about like that—how dare you?—
Yes, Mrs. Pingmore, I ham," she added, after a
pause, and going on with what she was about.

"It has quite a good smell," remarked
Gabrielle, anxious to ue agreeable. To this
observation, however, she received no reply.

There was a good smell, no doubt. Jane
Cantanker was an artist. She had about her
everything she was likely to want. The pieces
of toast on which the eggs were to repose stood
crisp and ready, and the eggs themselves showed
a golden tint through their whiteness which
was irresistible.

"I want to ask a great favour," said Mrs. Penmore,
hesitatingly. "It is that I may be allowed
to take Miss Carrington's supper up-stairs."

If Gabrielle had offered to take Miss Cantanker
up-stairs in her arms, that worthy lady
could hardly have been more wildly astonished.
She stood with the frying-pan in one hand, and
the kitchen spoon in the other, staring at Mrs.
Penmore with a stony gaze, as if for the time
she really could not get the nature of her request
into her head. As to making any reply,
it appeared as if nothing could be further from
her thoughts.

"Well, what do you say?" asked Gabrielle
again, after this silence had lasted some time.

"'Say,'" repeated the handmaiden. "Why,
I hardly know what to say. You must be out
of your mind, Mrs. Pingmore." And she stared
harder than ever.

"But surely there is nothing so very