“We don’t know yet. Miss Ladd will write to St. Domingo by the next mail. In the meantime, her father’s agent in London--the same person who pays her allowance--takes care of her until he hears from the West Indies.” “Does she consent to this?” “She doesn’t seem to care what becomes of her. Miss Ladd has given her every opportunity of explaining and excusing herself, and has produced no impression. You can see the state she is in. Our good mistress--always hopeful even in the worst cases, as you know--thinks she is feeling ashamed of herself, and is too proud and self-willed to own it. My own idea is, that some secret disappointment is weighing on her mind. Perhaps I am wrong.” No. Miss Ladd was wrong; and the teacher was right. The passion of revenge, being essentially selfish in its nature, is of all passions the narrowest in its range of view. In gratifying her jealous hatred of Emily, Francine had correctly foreseen consequences, as they might affect the other object of her enmity--Alban Morris. But she had failed to perceive the imminent danger of another result, which in a calmer frame of mind might not have escaped discovery. In triumphing over Emily and Alban, she had been the indirect means of inflicting on herself the bitterest of all disappointments--she had brought Emily and Mirabel together. The first forewarning of this catastrophe had reached her, on hearing that Mirabel would not return to Monksmoor. Her worst fears had been thereafter confirmed by a letter from Cecilia, which had followed her to Netherwoods. From that moment, she, who had made others wretched, paid the penalty in suffering as keen as any that she had inflicted. Completely prostrated; powerless, through ignorance of his address in London, to make a last appeal to Mirabel; she was literally, as had just been said, careless what became of her. When the train approached, she sprang to her feet--advanced to the edge of the platform--and suddenly drew back, shuddering. The teacher looked in terror at Alban. Had the desperate girl meditated throwing herself under the wheels of the engine? The thought had been in both their minds; but neither of them acknowledged it. Francine stepped quietly into the carriage, when the train drew up, and laid her head back in a corner, and closed her eyes. Mrs. Ellmother took her place in another compartment, and beckoned to Alban to speak to her at the window. “Where can I see you, when you go to London?” she asked. “At Doctor Allday’s house.” “On what day?” “On Tuesday next.” CHAPTER LVII. APPROACHING THE END. Alban reached London early enough in the afternoon to find the doctor at his luncheon. “Too late to see Mrs. Ellmother,” he announced. “Sit down and have something to eat.” “Has she left any message for me?” “A message, my good friend, that you won’t like to hear. She is off with her mistress, this morning, on a visit to Mr. Mirabel’s sister.” “Does he go with them?” “No; he follows by a later train.”