I was confounded and remained speechless, while with renewed strength my accuser continued, “Perhaps you will deny having been a teacher at that time, when according to your statement you were only fourteen.” “No,” I answered, “I do not deny that; I _had_ taught, but I was only _thirteen_ when I did so, as any one at home will testify.” “Thirteen! how improbable!” exclaimed Mrs. Lansing, while Ada continued, “And what of your engagement with Dr. Clayton. I heard it from the lips of your aunt; but perhaps she told me a falsehood?” and she looked maliciously at me, while with a stamp of his foot Mr. Delafield said sternly, “Ada, you have no right to question her of that.” “But I am glad she did,” I said, “for as I live, I have never been engaged to any man.” “Nor in love with one either? Will you say you were never in love with Dr. Clayton?” persisted Ada. It was a cruel question, but I could not deny it, and I remained silent, while I cowered beneath the burning gaze of Mr. Delafield, who still held me fast, but who now loosened his hold, and slightly pushing me from him, leaned against the pillar, with folded arms, and dark, lowering brow, while Mrs. Lansing and Ada exchanged glances of triumph. They had by my silence gained a partial advantage over me, but as long as I felt the clasp of Mr. Delafield’s hand, I was strong to defy them. Now, however, that had failed me, and girl-like I began to cry, telling them “they could easily test the whole matter by writing either to Boston or Meadow Brook.” This alternative had not occurred to Ada before, but now she readily saw how easily I could prove my innocence, and as she met Mr. Delafield’s inquiring glance, she turned very pale and laid her hand upon her side as if the _pain_ had returned. “Rose,” said Mr. Delafield, “you would hardly wish for me to write to Meadow Brook were you guilty, and as you seem willing that we should do so, I am inclined to hope that Ada may be mistaken. Come, stand by me (and reaching out his hand he drew me to his side) and tell me all the particulars of your acquaintance with Miss Montrose, and also about that sister with whom you are confounded, and you (turning to the other ladies) are not to speak, until she is through, when Ada can make any correction or explanation necessary.” It was an act of justice which I owed to myself, I knew, and wiping my eyes, I was about to commence, when Ada, rising up, said mockingly, “With the Hon. Judge’s permission I will leave, as I do not wish to hear the falsehoods which I am sure will be uttered.”