She informed her that Mrs. Harper was not down yet, nor Miss Harper, and showed her into the drawing-room, which was in process of being dusted. Here she waited for some time, whilst a sound of hasty footsteps and voices was very audible above her head. She looked around the room, and felt as if she had only quitted it yesterday. And oh! what a gap there was in her life between the last time she stood there, listening to Miss Selina’s spiteful remonstrances, and now! But the room was precisely the same. There was the best piano, on which she had had many a music-lesson. There was Alice Burns’ big coloured-chalk drawing, Amy Watson’s two water-colours; Florence Blewitt’s brass work, and Isabella Jones’s photograph screen--all votive offerings to the Harper family, and advertisements to pupils’ relatives who came to make inquiries about the school. Presently the door opened, and Miss Harper--if we may dare to say so--burst into the room. “Oh, Madeline!” she exclaimed, “so it’s you. She only said a young lady. How more than thankful I am to see you!” shaking hands as she spoke, and looking into her face with eager scrutiny. “You are thin--very thin; but thin or fat, you are welcome back. Come up at once to my mother’s room; she is dressing. She does not come down early now, and she wants to see you” (here was an honour). “Come, the girls are all in the schoolroom. The breakfast-bell will be rung in ten minutes,” turning to lead the way. Then she paused for a moment, with the handle in her hand. “You have heard about Selina?” she asked, with a red spot on either cheek, and a spark in either eye. “What! Have you _not_ heard?” she added hurriedly. Miss Selina! It was not of Miss Selina Madeline had come to hear; and she shook her head and answered, “No; is she dead?” “Dead! She’s married. She married nearly a year ago,” returned her sister, impressively, “Mr. Murphy, the red-haired curate. She--she behaved atrociously. Don’t mention her to my mother, nor ask about her, on any account. We don’t speak,” flinging the door wide as she gasped out the last sentence. All the reply Madeline made was “Indeed!” But nevertheless she felt a very lively satisfaction to hear that her old enemy was no longer an inmate of Harperton, and had gone away, like herself, in disgrace. “You will find my mother rather changed,” whispered Miss Harper, as she rapidly preceded her upstairs. “She’s had a slight stroke. All the troubles and annoyance about Selina were enough to kill her, and she is not what she was. She never comes down till the afternoon; but take no notice.”