He was out of the house and down the path before we had hardly time to breathe. Hermione went away a few minutes afterwards, and Miss Donnithorne and I had the evening to ourselves. We had supper almost in silence. There was a sort of constraint over us. I looked at Miss Donnithorne, and saw that she was very pale. I said to myself, "No wonder, poor thing! She has had some of father's eloquence dinned into her ears; it is enough to scare any one." After a long period of silence, during which I was scraping more and more apple off the core of the baked one I had been eating, and trying to fiddle with my bread and get it to last as long as possible, she said abruptly, "One's duty is sometimes difficult, is it not, little Rachel?" "Is it?" I answered. "Yes, I suppose so." She looked at me again. "You are the index-finger which points to the path of duty," was her next remarkable speech. This was too much! "I hate being called an index-finger!" was my answer. "I don't know what it means." She got up, put her arm round me, and kissed me. "I would be good to you," she said in her softest voice. It really was difficult to resist her. She was a very sweet woman. I knew it then by the way she kissed me, and I don't think in all my life I ever felt anything softer than the soft, soft cheek which was pressed against mine. Had she been a girl of my own age, she could not have had a more delicate complexion. "You are good to me--you are very good to me," I said with gratitude. "I like you and even love you, and I hope you will like me and not misunderstand me." "But why should I?" I asked. "Come into the other room, child," was her remark. We went into the room where the stuffed birds were, and Miss Donnithorne sat down and poked up the fire. Then she said gently, "Does he always talk as much as he did at tea?" "Who, Miss Donnithorne?" "Your father, my dear." "Not always," I answered. She gave a sigh of profound thankfulness. "But does he at most times?" "Most times he is silent," I said, "and we are all silent too. It's the rule at home for none of us to speak when the Professor is eating. If he likes he speaks, but none of us does." "What do you mean by `none of us'?" "The boys and I. We sit very still. It isn't difficult for me, because I am accustomed to it; but Alex--he sometimes moves his legs, for they are so long. Father is annoyed then. Father suffers from headache." "No wonder, with such a brain. His learning is colossal!" "It is," I said wearily. "You admire him very much, don't you, Dumps?" "Naturally, because he is my father." But then I added, "I only wish he wasn't so learned. I hate learning, you know. I never mean to be learned." Miss Donnithorne laughed, and her favourite expression, "Bless the child!" burst from her lips. PART ONE, CHAPTER EIGHT. HOME AGAIN.