By degrees, I drifted more and more into the position of governess to my Lady Frances. My Lady Challoner, who had never got on well with her charge—I never saw the human being that liked her—went away, and another elderly lady, Mrs. Wardour, the widow of a brave soldier, took her place. She was a very discreet lady, who knew well how to control herself, and who soon won the respect of her charge. Lady Frances was docile enough with her, and soon learned to be ashamed of the tempest of passionate anger which I used to think Lady Challoner took delight in provoking, that she might have whereof to complain to the girl's father. My Lady Frances was different from many high-tempered persons in this, that she did not always think some one else was to blame for her outbreaks, but laid the fault where it belonged, on her own choleric temper. She and I got on very well, and she improved so fast that it was a pleasure to teach her. I still read to her Grace whenever she was at home of an evening, and attended her in her excursions upon the river, but I was excused from standing behind her chair, and another gentlewoman took my place. It was on our return from one of these water excursions that an event took place of which we thought little at the time, but which was destined to have important consequences for us both. We had landed at our usual place, when we saw a couple of burly, rude water-men threatening and bullying a pale man in black, who looked like a scholar of some sort. Even as we came up, one of them struck him a blow which staggered and nearly knocked him down. "Shame, shame!" rang out the dear voice of the Duchess, who was not one of those over-prudent people who can never do a generous action without thinking about it till the occasion is past. "Is that the way for Englishmen to treat a stranger and a poor man? Let him alone, you brute!" For the bully, furious with anger, had again raised his hand. His companion, somewhat cooler, and seeing the Duke's water-men, caught his arm and began to explain— "He is no true man, my lady, but a beggarly Frenchman and a spy!—" "No, no spy!" muttered the man, in imperfect English. He reeled as he spoke, and would have fallen into the water, had not one of our own serving men caught him. The two rogues, seeing with whom they had to deal, began to comprehend that the matter might end badly for them, and slunk away in a hurry. "Poor man, is he hurt?" asked the Duchess, compassionately. "Speak to him, Mistress Corbet; I dare say he knows Latin." I did so, but his voice was so faint that I could not catch his answer. "I believe the man is starved, my lady," said John Symonds, who was supporting him. "He is naught but a bag of bones. Some beef and strong-water would be the best remedy for his ail."