being treated with contempt. And I must say
that Helen did treat her badly. Judith upon
her side did not make much show of ill-will.
There was nothing very noticeable in her
manner, except sometimes that look, of which, I
think, she could hardly have been conscious, or
she would have made some effort to hide it.
But no one who had ever seen it was likely to
forget it.

"My dear, this is not a nice history, and you
will be glad when I bring it to an end. Sir
John and Helen became engaged. They
arranged it one day whilst out riding. Judith
was to have gone with them; but Helen's horse
was found to be sick, and Judith's was required
for Helen. The lovers were caught in a
thunderstorm, and arranged their little affair while
taking shelter in some romantic and out-of-the-
way spot. Helen caught a cold, and was put
to bed when she reached home. The news of
the engagement was not kept secret for a
moment. Sir John told his mother without delay,
and the old lady was too pleased to keep the
matter to herself. We all knew what had
happened when we sat down to dinner without
Helen. We were all very merry, except Judith.
I should have thought she, too, was ill, only I
knew she had looked dark all day, on account
of the horse. Dark about the eyes and mouth,
and pale, as she always looked when anything
had crossed her.

"Helen was ill with a sort of fever for two
or three days after this. Margaret and I used
to sit in her room all day, reading, or chatting,
and telling stories over the fire. Dear Margaret
was quite a child then. Sir John used to
come to the door to ask how the patient did,
and we used to have to go out and comfort him
in the lobby. Judith, to our surprise, also
came once or twice, and on one occasion, when
we assured her Helen was asleep, she came into
the room, and stood between us looking down
at the fire. It was late in the evening, and
Margaret had in her hand a goblet of sweet
drink, a dark-looking red stuff, made of some
kind of preserves steeped in water. She was
walking on tip-toe to place it on a table by the
bed.

"'What is that?' asked Judith.

"'Some drink for the night,' said Margaret.
'She is so thirsty.'

"'Will she drink all that?' asked Judith.

"'Every drop of it,' whispered Margaret, and
put her finger on her lip and looked at Judith,
before she turned and stepped away on her toes
across the room.

"Judith Blake did not like dear Margaret.
She did not like me, but I think she liked me
better than Margaret. She was not afraid of
me, for I was afraid of her, and I saw that she
did not like being observed. I had always kept
out of her way as much as I was able. But
dear Margaret was not afraid of her, and was
quite too wise and too quick, and kept her
bright eyes a great deal too wide open—was
altogether too fearless and straightforward to
suit with the disposition of Judith Blake.

"My dear, I slept in Helen's room that
night. She was restless, and fancied to have
me. A bed was arranged for me on a couch in
a corner. In the middle of the night I
wakened, I knew not why, nor how—unless it
had been the strangeness of the room—for there
was no noise. But I saw Judith Blake crossing
the floor. She was covered all down with
something dark, and she made no more sound
than if she had been a ghost. I first saw the
dark figure, and knew not what it was, and
should have screamed, I dare say, but for the
fear of wakening Helen. But the next moment
a little blaze sprang up in the slumbering fire,
and I saw that Judith Blake was in the room.
She stepped back behind the bed-curtains till
the little blaze dropped down again; and then
I saw again only the dark figure moving across
the room to the door. The door opened and
closed, and she was gone.

"My dear, I thought it odd, but the matter
did not keep me awake. I got up in the morning
early, as I was accustomed to do. Helen
was sleeping soundly, which was not usual with
her at that hour. It was my habit to pay her
a visit the first thing when I was dressed, and
I always had found her awake and rather fretful.
I also noticed as unusual that only a little
had been taken from the tumbler of sweet drink
by her side.

"I went out to the gardens. I was always
fond of a garden, even in winter time. Just in
the beech-alley, my dear—you know the beech-
alley?—I met Judith Blake walking up and
down. She had a shawl over her head, and
looked pale and unwell. I had forgotten till
that moment about seeing her the night before
in Helen's room. I felt a little oddly, recollecting
it; but she spoke to me very civilly,
and asked for Lady Helen. I said I believed
she was better. She was sleeping very soundly.
Judith recoiled from me a step, and gave me
one of those strange bad looks, of which I think
she was unconscious. Then she passed on, and
so did I, in the opposite direction. And I
thought, as I ran along, 'How she does hate
Helen!'

"After breakfast it was found that Helen still
slept. Lady Munro desired Margaret and me
to go out and take a walk; and we went, and
took a walk. Even then my dear Margaret had
a taste for going poking among the cottages.
And I admit to you, my dear, that I admired
her, and loved her for it, as I do to this day,
only Helen don't see the good of it.

"We were out all the long, long morning,
and when we arrived at home Lady Munro
came to meet us in the hall. She laid hold of
my hand and brought me with her up to her
own private room—the room in which she was
accustomed to see the steward and the house-
keeper, and any of the tenantry who might
desire to have an interview with her ladyship.
I was frightened out of my senses. I had
broken a little ornament the day before.
Margaret had assured me it did not matter, that
she would make it all right with her mother.