“He? What put that into your head? He has never even seen Miss Emily. She’s going to our house--ah, the women are getting the upper hand now, and serve the men right, I say!--she’s going to our house to be Sir Jervis’s secretary. You would like to have the place yourself, wouldn’t you? You would like to keep a poor girl from getting her own living? Oh, you may look as fierce as you please--the time’s gone by when a man could frighten _me_. I like her Christian name. I call Emily a nice name enough. But ‘Brown’! Good-morning, Mr. Morris; you and I are not cursed with such a contemptibly common name as that! ‘Brown’? Oh, Lord!” She tossed her head scornfully, and walked away, humming a tune. Alban stood rooted to the spot. The effort of his later life had been to conceal the hopeless passion which had mastered him in spite of himself. Knowing nothing from Emily--who at once pitied and avoided him--of her family circumstances or of her future plans, he had shrunk from making inquiries of others, in the fear that they, too, might find out his secret, and that their contempt might be added to the contempt which he felt for himself. In this position, and with these obstacles in his way, the announcement of Emily’s proposed journey--under the care of a stranger, to fill an employment in the house of a stranger--not only took him by surprise, but inspired him with a strong feeling of distrust. He looked after Sir Jervis Redwood’s flighty housekeeper, completely forgetting the purpose which had brought him thus far on the way to his lodgings. Before Mrs. Rook was out of sight, Alban Morris was following her back to the school. CHAPTER VII. “COMING EVENTS CAST THEIR SHADOWS BEFORE.” Miss De Sor and Miss Wyvil were still sitting together under the trees, talking of the murder at the inn. “And is that really all you can tell me?” said Francine. “That is all,” Cecilia answered. “Is there no love in it?” “None that I know of.” “It’s the most uninteresting murder that ever was committed. What shall we do with ourselves? I’m tired of being here in the garden. When do the performances in the schoolroom begin?” “Not for two hours yet.” Francine yawned. “And what part do you take in it?” she asked. “No part, my dear. I tried once--only to sing a simple little song. When I found myself standing before all the company and saw rows of ladies and gentlemen waiting for me to begin, I was so frightened that Miss Ladd had to make an apology for me. I didn’t get over it for the rest of the day. For the first time in my life, I had no appetite for my dinner. Horrible!” said Cecilia, shuddering over the remembrance of it. “I do assure you, I thought I was going to die.” Perfectly unimpressed by this harrowing narrative, Francine turned her head lazily toward the house. The door was thrown open at the same moment. A lithe little person rapidly descended the steps that led to the lawn. “It’s Emily come back again,” said Francine.