THE first week in the country passed off without flaw or disturbance of any kind. Matilda was true to her promise; no one could catch her even attempting to eavesdrop; she interfered with none of the arrangements of the others, but plodded along, not adding her quota of merriment or joy, but still behaving much better than anyone expected.

"It is too good to last," thought Kate, who knew her well.

But Cecil and Molly began to believe that they had been overhard on Matilda. As the days wore on they tried to draw her out. They were intensely happy themselves, and they wanted all their companions to share their pleasure. Christmas had passed delightfully, and New Year's day drew on, arrived, and sank into the annals of the past. A day or two after the new year, Maurice was much delighted to receive a letter from Mr. Danvers, to tell him that he had taken rooms in the next terrace to theirs, and might be expected to arrive that evening.

"I do not wish you to pay any attention to this letter," said the schoolmaster. "I am simply coming to St. Jude's because I have heard of the famous air of the place, and I really want to get braced up a little. Do not on any account acquaint the ladies of your party of my intended arrival. You can drop in to see me if you like some evening, and if we should happen to meet in any of our walks, I shall, of course, be pleased to see you. I hope the other lads are well. By the way, you might coach Teddy up a little in his Latin; we ought to get him into Cæsar next term; do your best, Maurice.

"Your sincere friend,

"John Danvers."

"Who is your letter from, Maurice?" asked Molly.

"He said I wasn't to tell you anything about it," said Maurice, looking up with sparkling eyes.

"Oh, we know what that means," said Cecil. "Mr. Danvers is coming at last – how glad I am!"

"You really must not force yourself on him," said Maurice, a pucker coming between his brows; "he honestly hates all women, and poor old chap, his prejudices must be humored. He didn't wish me to let you know that he was coming. I may drop in on him some day, if I fancy."

"I say!" exclaimed Teddy; "much chance he has of getting rid of us in that style."

"He wants you to attack your Cæsar," said Maurice, fixing his eyes on his brother.

"Oh, perhaps, after all, we'd better not bother him too much," was the quick reply. "I say, Charlie and Jimmy, let's run off for a scamper; it's a splendid day. How the wind does blow!"

"It's snowing as fast as ever it can," said Matilda, shivering as she spoke. "If you call this a splendid day, I must say I don't admire your taste; for my part, I am going to sit over the fire. Mother sent me down a copy of 'The Golden Butterfly' this morning; it looks interesting, and I shall spend my time reading it."

"It is not a bit too cold for a walk," said Cecil. "Who will come with me?"

"I, for one," cried Molly. "Are you coming, Kate?"

"No," answered Kate; "my head aches."

When she said this, Matilda raised her eyes and gave her a quick and furtive glance, which nobody noticed. Molly and Cecil ran off to put on their warmest wraps, and were presently seen battling with the wind, and going off in the direction of the sea. The four boys had all disappeared, and Kate and Matilda found themselves alone in the snug little parlor. Matilda piled coal on the fire until it blazed and crackled merrily; she then drew forward the only really comfortable chair, seated herself in it, put her feet on the fender, rested her head against the cushions, opened her novel, and prepared to read. Kate collected some books, sat down by the center table, leaned her elbows upon it, pressed one of her hands against her cheek, and tried, with the help of a lexicon, to translate, as best she could, a somewhat difficult passage of Homer. She soon became absorbed in her task; her brow cleared, her eyes grew full of light, her lips moved softly as the beautiful meaning of the grand old text began to unfold itself before her. Matilda, who was no reader, who was incapable of even thoroughly enjoying a novel, uttered a profound yawn, slightly turned her head, and looked at Kate.

"What in the world are you doing?" she said, in an abrupt voice.

"Don't speak to me for a minute," said Kate.

"I do believe you are studying, and that is forbidden!" cried Matilda.

"I wish you would stop talking," cried Kate. She turned the pages of her lexicon quickly, found the word she required, shut up her Homer, and looked at Matilda with flushed cheeks and sparkling eyes.

"Now you'll have a headache. How awfully silly you are!" said Matilda. "And you are breaking the rules, too; it was arranged that none of us were to study."

"I am doing nothing underhand," said Kate. "I have been feeling much better, and we agreed that a very little study in the morning could not hurt me."

"For my part," said Matilda, "I wonder you do not grasp the opportunity of having a real rest. If you knew how

detest work?"

"You see, I love it," said Kate. "Perhaps you will allow me to go on with it now. Is not your book interesting?"

"Pretty well; it's about a girl who didn't know anything at all; but all the same she seemed to have an uncommonly jolly time of it. I can't make out what is the use of grinding: it spoils your eyes, and your figure, and your temper, and men don't think a bit the more of you for it. After all, women are sent into the world just to please the men."

"I should like to ask you a question," said Kate. "Why, with your views, did you trouble to come to Redgarth?"

"Simply and entirely," replied Matilda, "because it is the fashion just at present for girls to be educated. Mother took it into her head that I must be in the fashion. I am just going to scrape through somehow, just to please mother. I do hope she will let me leave at the end of the summer term."

"I sincerely hope so, too," answered Kate.

"Why do you say that?"

"Because girls like you are a disgrace to a place like Redgarth."

"Don't you think you are very rude?" said Matilda, flushing deeply.

"I am sorry if I am, but you force me to speak plainly, now and then. Will you stop talking now and let me return to my Homer."

"Yes, I will, after I have said something. I am truly sorry for you, although you are spiteful and unkind to me."

"I don't need your sympathy, thanks," answered Kate.

"All the same, you can't help my giving it to you. I am sorry for you, because it is important for you to work, and I fear, after that bad accident, you won't be fit for much for some time. I had a cousin who fell on her head when she was a girl; she was never any good afterward – she developed epileptic fits. Her brain was badly injured, but not so badly as yours. Now, I won't say any more, but if I were you, I wouldn't work at that dull old Homer longer than I could help. I am giving you a piece of sensible advice; you can take it or not, as you please."

Kate did not utter a word. Matilda sighed, fidgeted, and resumed her novel. She was feeling deeply annoyed. If Kate had flown into a passion, or show any disturbance at her taunting words, she would have felt that she had had her revenge; but Kate was calmness itself; she was once more deep in her books; the poetry of the king of poets was enchanting her: her noble brow looked full of intellect, her lovely eyes were sparkling, her lips were like roses.

"Yes, she's clever," thought Matilda as she watched her. "I don't suppose her brain is much injured – I doubt if it is injured at all. And she's beautiful, too; there's no sort of sense in denying it. How I wish she were ugly, and – yes, and stupid! but she's not – she's graceful, too; she never does an ungraceful thing. How I detest her! how I hate her! What right has a girl of that sort to be at St. Dorothy's? Why, she's nothing whatever but a peasant girl – an Irish peasant girl; but, of course, no one cares for that, just because she happens to have a good-looking face. Oh, dear! I can't stand any more of this stupid novel. I wonder if it is too cold to go out; it isn't snowing at present, the sun is shining. I think I'll go for a run."

Matilda rose to her feet; she yawned and stretched herself as she did so.

"Hadn't you better come out?" she said, fixing her eyes on the student.

"No, thanks!"

"I am going."

"Very well."

"You are sure you would not like to come with me?"

"Yes, quite sure; do you mind shutting the door when you leave the room?"

Matilda had just approached the door, when it was suddenly opened by the rosy-cheeked maid-servant, and a little man with red hair, and spectacles pushed up on his forehead, was ushered into the room.

"I think Mr. Maurice is out, sir, but I will go and look for him," said the maid.

Mr. Danvers – for of course it was he – found himself almost in the arms of Matilda. Matilda backed: she did not admire the little man with his red head and somewhat startled eyes.

"Oh, horrors!" she said, under her breath.

"I beg your pardon," said Mr. Danvers. "I called to see Maurice Ross; I traveled last night instead of waiting until this morning. I wanted to leave Maurice my address. Will you have the goodness to give it to him? I" – he backed rapidly until he nearly reached the door – "I – I will call another time."

"No, indeed, you must not do anything of the kind," said Kate, rising suddenly.

She came a step or two forward as she spoke; she held her copy of Homer in one hand. The book was somewhat heavy; as Kate pushed a chair forward it slipped and fell.

"Excuse me," said Mr. Danvers, "but that is not the way to treat a valuable book."

He stooped, placed it on the table, then looked full at Kate.

"You don't mean to say you are reading Greek?" he said.

"Yes, indeed I am," answered Kate; "and I have just come to a most difficult passage; I am making an awful mess of it. Maurice tells me that you are devoted to the classics; perhaps, while you are waiting, you will construe this passage for me."

"With pleasure; show me your translation."

"Oh, it is too poor for you to look at!"

"Show it to me; I can soon tell you if you have gone wrong."

Kate held up her exercise book.

"Take a chair, won't you?" she said.

Without a word Mr. Danvers dropped into the one she had been using. He absolutely forgot that she was a girl; he began to read her translation, pursing up his lips as he did so.

"Good, so far," he said. "Oh, here is a wrong quantity; disgraceful, careless! Aren't you ashamed of yourself to do work of this sort? What will the boys of England come to?"

"But you are scolding a girl of Ireland," said Kate, in a gentle tone.

Mr. Danvers glanced up at her.

"I beg your pardon, miss," he said; "really, women ought not to meddle in matters too deep for them."

"But you will be good-natured and help me, won't you? You may as well do that as nothing, while you are waiting for Maurice; I felt sure I had gone wrong in that line. Will you show me? I shall be so grateful."

"Well, I can't see Homer murdered," exclaimed Mr. Danvers; "so here goes."

"Matilda," said Kate, facing round and looking at Matilda, who was standing in some perplexity near the door, "you are going out, are you not?"

"Yes," said Matilda.

"If you see Maurice, will you kindly tell him that Mr. Danvers has come?"

"Yes," replied Matilda again. She left the room, shutting the door behind her.

"What an awkward, hideous little oddity!" she said to herself. "If people grow like that from the study of Greek, preserve me from wearing myself out with it. What a flirt Kate O'Connor is! pretending she wants to be helped with her stupid, musty old Homer! she just dropped the book on purpose. Well, I wish her joy of her prize in that old scarecrow. Yes, I may as well go out. I could not read 'The Golden Butterfly' in the same room with that parchment creature. To see Kate pretending to be so eager, and that old man falling into the trap so easily, is too much for my nerves. Perhaps he would not if he knew that she was only a peasant girl; perhaps he will know it some day. Now then, to find Maurice, and put a stop to this flirtation."

Matilda hastily donned a handsome sealskin jacket, and, wrapped from head to foot in the warmest furs, sallied forth into the cold January atmosphere. She walked as far as the shore, but, look to right and look to left as she would, she could not see a sign of any of her companions. The short gleam of sunshine had long ago disappeared; fresh banks of heavy clouds had come up from the north, and were covering the entire sky. Presently the snow began to fall; it fell faster and faster, thicker and thicker; it covered Matilda's sealskin jacket; it beat pitilessly against her cheeks, and even got into her eyes. She had forgotten to bring out an umbrella, and was therefore exposed to the full fury of the weather; she was quite a mile from home, too. What was to be done?

She by no means liked her present predicament; physical hardship of any sort was repellent to her. She walked on, buffeted by the weather, and feeling herself a truly wretched girl, when, to her relief, she saw a little shelter which had been put up along the shore, and which she had forgotten all about. She ran to it, sat down inside the glass-covered inclosure, and drew a long breath of relief. Part of this shelter was under repair, and was covered with scaffolding, canvas, and heavy boards. Matilda had scarcely seated herself in the glass part of the shelter before she heard footsteps approaching. She also heard voices which she immediately recognized; they were those of Maurice, Jimmy, and the other boys.

Now, Matilda had not made friends with the Ross boys. Maurice she would have tolerated had he shown her any special attention; the other three she cordially detested. She did not at all wish them to find her now, covered with snow, and looking blue, and miserable. She knew that Jimmy would immediately speak about her nose. Matilda's nose was a source of anxiety to herself, for the slightest thing made it red and swollen; the horror of a chilblain on this prominent portion of her face had been one of her terrors since her early childhood. Jimmy would be sure to tell her that the first signs of a chilblain were approaching. Scarcely considering what she was doing, she rushed into the dark part of the shelter, pulled forward some tarpaulin and matting, and, crouching down behind some boards, was completely lost to view. She resolved to stay in this hiding-place until the boys had left the shelter. She had scarcely made herself secure before they all entered. They stood by the entrance watching the storm and chattering hard to one another.

"How jolly!" said Jimmy; "we'll be able to snowball if this snow goes on much longer. I'm glad we are in for a downright good fall of snow. Isn't it fine to see it scudding as it does right across the sea? I should not be a bit surprised if we had a wreck to-night!"

"Oh, I say!" exclaimed Charlie, "if that isn't Molly and Cecil just turning the promontory; what a long walk they have taken! Do look at Cecil; see how her dress is blown by the wind – oh, and Molly's umbrella is inside out. What a mess they'll be in; why, this snow will wet them through. What is it, Maurice? Did you say anything?"

"I am going to meet them," said Maurice; "you stay quiet, if you can, you three, and don't be up to any larks. I'll bring the girls in here; they'll be sure to miss this little shelter if I don't point it out."

"Let me go with you," said Charlie.

"No, no! stay where you are; you are wet through as it is."

Thrusting his hands deep into his pockets, Maurice ran as fast as he could in the direction from where his sister and her friend were approaching him.

Meanwhile, the three younger boys were alone in the shelter – that is, they supposed themselves to be alone but they little knew that Matilda, breathing hard and feeling terrified, was within earshot. She had scarcely concealed herself in her little shelter before she repented of her own rash act. Suppose by any chance she was discovered! Those awful boys would think as little of reconnoitering the dark part of the shed as they would of breathing or whistling. The three younger boys were about the most mischievous, most restless creatures Matilda had ever come across – they were never still for an instant. Oh, suppose they discovered her! Cruelly as Matilda hated both Cecil and Kate, she also feared them. She knew that no words of hers would prevent the rest of her companions believing that she had hidden herself for the purpose of eavesdropping. They would certainly keep their word if she were discovered, and boycott her on the spot.

Matilda would not have minded being boycotted by such girls as Kate and Cecil were she at school. But here at St. Jude's this state of things would make her a very miserable girl indeed; she reflected that, under such circumstances, she might have had a better time with the cook and housemaid at St. Dorothy's. Well, there was no help for it now: she must stay as mute as a mouse, and take her chance of not being discovered.

Luckily for her, Jimmy, with a shout, suddenly discovered a large crab, which had found its way into the shelter. He dropped on his knees and began eagerly to examine his captive. Soon the three boys began to wrangle over their prey, and Matilda breathed a gentle sigh of relief. The noise of approaching footsteps was again heard above the gale, and Maurice and the two girls entered the little shelter. The entire party now stood by the entrance watching the snow and commenting about it. By Cecil's request, Jimmy ran out with the poor crab, and deposited it in the nearest pool of water; he then returned to the shelter. They all remained there until the heavy snow-shower had slightly abated; then the boys decided to go to the house to fetch Cecil's and Molly's waterproofs. They ran off quickly, and the girls seated themselves on the bench at the back of the shelter.

"You might as well read me that letter now, Cecil," said Molly.

"Very well," answered Cecil; "there are sure to be no eavesdroppers about to-day, are there?"

"Scarcely, seeing that we left Matilda snugly ensconced at home with her book."

"Oh, did you?" muttered that young lady, from her hiding-place.

"I think it is awfully kind of Miss Forester to write to me. Don't you, Molly?" said Cecil.

"Yes; but, after all, it is just the thing she would do. She takes an immense interest in you; she is very proud of you."

"I intend to make her proud of me," said Cecil, drawing herself up and looking straight ahead of her. "If ever a girl has made up her mind simply to grind, to find no obstacle too difficult to overcome, I am that girl. Miss Forester suggests that I should try for the great scholarship in June. I mean to try."

"Well, I wish you success," said Molly; "you are clever enough for anything. Now, then, do read the letter; those boys will be back in no time."

Cecil took it out of her pocket; she opened it, drew a little closer to Molly, and began to read aloud:

"My Dear Cecil:

"I wish to consult you and Molly about your friend Kate. I know, in doing so, that you will regard every word I say as absolutely sacred, and not breathe the contents of this letter to any of your companions. You know that poor dear Kate O'Connor has lost her little money; you also know that at the present moment she is quite unaware of the sad fact that she is practically penniless. Having regard to her peculiar temperament, to a certain pride which in many ways is scarcely wrong, and which she inherits, doubtless, from her Irish ancestors, I am inclined to believe that the wisest course to pursue would be to keep her in ignorance of the calamity which has fallen upon her. The other day I had the pleasure of a long interview with a great friend of mine, a Mrs. Percival. She is very rich, and has often given large donations toward the expenses here. I told her Kate's story, and she suggested the scheme which I now write to you about. It is simply this, that Kate is not to be told that her money is gone, and that Mrs. Percival will pay her fees here, and allow her sufficient money to dress properly, and also for minor expenses. Fortunately, Kate's little money in London has always been paid into my bank, and I can still provide her with funds without arousing her suspicion in any way. Hers is a very peculiar temperament; she has many of the attributes of genius, but I doubt if she has the capacity, or even mental power, for a sustained strain of hard work.

"I regard you, Cecil, and Kate O'Connor, as quite the cleverest girls at present at St. Dorothy's; but, although you are both undoubtedly brilliant, you are essentially different; you have got the capacity for work. If you avail yourself of the privileges which are now accorded to you, you can acquire knowledge to a great extent, and use that knowledge very brilliantly in the future. Kate, on the other hand, has a more delicate organism; hers are more the gifts of fancy. She is endowed with imagination of a high order; she is intellectual without being logical. In the future, it is possible that she may earn her bread by writing; she may either take up fiction or some other branch of literature. If she avails herself of the advantages of this school, she will do her work in the future, whatever it is, well – even brilliantly; but I do not think she will ever be profound in argument or very deep in thought. Be that as it may, she is sufficiently above the common to have an assured future, if nothing happens to wreck her prospects at the present juncture. Her accident has weakened her, and her working-powers will not return to their old strength for a year, or even two years. To shock her pride and hurt her now might injure her fatally. I am inclined, therefore, although it is contrary to my usual rule, to act on Mrs. Percival's advice, to allow her to assist Kate without telling Kate anything about it. When that part of her education which can be conducted at Redgarth is over, she will be strong enough and brave enough to learn the truth. I will then propose to her a scheme by which she can pay Mrs. Percival back the debt which she will owe her. You two girls are Kate's greatest friends, and I honor your friendship for her and one another sufficiently to consult you on this point. I shall be glad to get your unreserved opinions. Write to me to my London address, which heads this paper.

"Yours, with affection,

"Janet Forester."

"What do you think of it?" said Cecil, when she had finished reading.

"There is only one thing to think," answered Molly. "Miss Forester's scheme must be carried out. There can be no second opinion, surely, on that point. All through these happy days, when I have looked at Kate, and listened to her merry laugh, and seen the health coming back to her cheeks and brightness to her eyes, I could never forget the shock which was awaiting her. Now, that shock need never come. Oh, what a good, splendid woman Miss Forester is!"

"Nearly as good as your grandmother, Molly," replied Cecil.

"I meant to apply to grannie as a

dernier ressort

," said Molly; "but this is much better. Of course, Cecil, you and I have only one thing to say – we think the scheme first-rate. Let us write to Miss Forester in time to catch the mail for London."

"The snow is nearly over; we may as well go back now," said Cecil. "We need not wait for Maurice. But oh, there he is – and how fast he is running! What can be the matter?"

"I say, girls, what do you think?" exclaimed Maurice, rushing up to the two as he spoke, and laughing heartily. "I found that charming Irish Kitty

tête-à-tête

with Mr. Danvers. There was the old boy, with his hair redder than I have ever seen it, pushed up like a brush from his forehead, his eyes sparkling, his glasses stuck awry on his nose, gesticulating and arguing and scolding Kate O'Connor at the top of his voice. He said that she was a disgrace to any English school; that no boy of ordinary capacities would construe so shamefully; that her quantities were false, her accent vile; that, in short, as a lad of spirit, she ought to give up murdering poor Homer in the future. And there stood Kate in front of him, arguing also, and defending herself. You never heard such a noise as the two were making in all your life. We four lads burst in on the scene, and the fact of our presence woke Mr. Danvers up. He got out of the room somehow, without so much as looking at Kate. When he reached the street, he mopped his forehead and said to me: 'Tell me, Maurice, – for really, in the confusion of the moment, and the cruelty of seeing one of the finest passages in Homer absolutely riddled through with errors, I can't be certain of what I said, – but did I speak to that young person as if she were a boy?'

"'You certainly did, sir,' I replied.

"'Merciful Heavens!' he answered; 'I have a respect for ladies. I respect them

in the distance

. It is unworthy and ungentlemanly of any man to be rude to a lady; but when a woman puts herself out of her place, when she wounds a scholar, even a humble scholar, in his tenderest sensibilities – Maurice; my lad, the air of this place is not what it was. I doubt that St. Jude's will agree with me. Can you get me a time-table?'

"'Nothing of the kind,' I answered. 'You've come here now, and you shall stay. There's another girl of our party, – Iphigenia, you'll compare her to, – she shall read a passage of Homer translated into better and purer English than any fellow at Hazlewick could attempt. Now, look here, sir; you've come and you must stay! Jimmy and Charlie and Teddy, come along here this minute!'

"I got them to surround him, Cecil," continued Maurice; "so there is no fear of his escaping; and now do hurry home."

They all set off at a quick pace, and Matilda, icy cold, was able to creep out of her hiding-place. She was very white when she did so, and was trembling a good bit. She had had a narrow escape of a very unpleasant adventure, and at first all her feelings were simply those of congratulation. After a time, however, as her frozen blood began to circulate once more in her veins, other thoughts came to visit her.

"So Kate is not to know," she said to herself. "Kate is to be educated on charity. The peasant girl, who is truly now a pauper, and whom I cordially hate, is to receive the bounty of a complete stranger, and to know nothing about it. Perhaps I can put a spoke into that delightful little arrangement. I must work cautiously. I hate Kate, I hate Cecil! I have no special love for Molly; my turn has come, I fancy, to pay off some old scores."

Matilda hurried back to the house. She crept softly upstairs, reached her bedroom without anyone seeing her, and came down to early dinner looking subdued and dull.

"Did you enjoy your walk?" asked Kate, as she helped her to some soup.

"It was so cold that I did not care to go out," said Matilda, without a moment's hesitation.

"And did you really spend the last couple of hours in your room! You must be simply frozen."

"I did not wish to disturb you and Mr. Danv