then, the shortest way will be to let her go to Nulle. "Love to mamma, and believe me, your affectionate sister, "Emily De Mellissie." I read nearly to the end before suspecting that the letter was not meant for me. I had supposed it to be the answer to the one I despatched to Emily in the previous week. Some one else—as it would appear—had despatched one also, remonstrating at the inconvenience my presence caused at Chandos. With a face that was burning in its every lineament—with hands that trembled as they closed—with a heart that felt half sick with shame—I started up. That very moment I would write word to Madame de Mellissie that I was quitting Chandos; and to Miss Barlieu, to say I was coming. In the midst of which paroxysm there entered Mr. Chandos, between Hickens and a stick. He sat down in an arm-chair, wishing me good morning. When the man had gone I advanced to him with the open letter. "This letter must be intended for you, I think, Mr. Chandos, although it was addressed to me. It is from Madame Alfred de Mellissie." "Just so," he said, taking it, and handing me the one he himself held. This I presume is for you, as it begins "My dear Anne Hereford. Emily has betrayed her characteristic heedlessness, in sending my letter to you, and yours to me." He ran his eyes over the note, and then called to me. I stood looking from the window. "Have you read this?" "Every word. Until I came to my own name I never suspected that it was not written for me. I am very sorry, Mr. Chandos; but I hope you will not blame me; indeed it was done inadvertently." "So am I sorry," he answered, in a joking sort of tone, as if he would pass the matter over lightly. "Emily's letters ought to be preserved in the British Museum." Before he could say more, Hill came in, and began talking with him in an undertone, looking crossly at me. Of course it drove me away. I went to the portico, and read my letter. "My Dear Anne Hereford, "You need not trouble yourself at all about being what you call 'an encumbrance' at Chandos, but just make yourself contented until I can come over. Mamma and my brother ought to be glad to have you there, for they are mured up alone from year's end to year's end. Keep out of their way as much as possible, so as not to annoy them. "Yours sincerely, "Emily De Mellissie. "P.S.—Of course you might go to Miss Barlieu's, if Lady Chandos deems it expedient that you should." A fine specimen of contradiction the note presented. I folded it and went upstairs, one determination strong upon me—to depart for Nulle. Mrs. Penn was standing at the gallery-window between my room and the library. She was dressed handsomely, this new companion: a grey silk robe, a gold chain, a pretty blonde-lace cap mingling with her nearly scarlet hair, valuable rings on her fingers. Just as I took likes and dislikes when a child, so I took them still. And I did not like Mrs. Penn.