"Don't talk of her _now_, Gillett--my good Gillett!" whispered the girl, shuddering; "I've been looking at her picture--see, here it is." She took a miniature from the table, "And--and--don't you think she looks frowningly upon me? I have thought so all day." "Lauk, dear! how can the picture change? There it is; and it can't look sweeter, nor crosser--poor, dear lady!--she never looked cross on any one." "Don't speak of her!" cried Minnie, in agony, dropping her head on the woman's shoulder, and sobbing. "I told your uncle how it would be," said the other, trying to soothe Minnie, as she would have done a child, by patting her back; "but come, look up, it will all go right soon, you'll get out; and now, Master Miles is gone (and I'm sure I'm glad of it) all will be as before, and----" Minnie rose hastily, and stood looking at the woman, as if uncertain how to act; her tears were burning on her cheeks--her lips opened to speak. Then Miles's cautions came over her, and she turned away with a sigh. Mrs. Gillett rose, and, smoothing down her apron, began laying the table with perfect composure, and confidence that all would soon be well. Suddenly Minnie approached, and, grasping her arm, said, so wildly that the other herself stood transfixed, "Remember, Gillett--my good Gillett--whatever may happen, they drove me to it. Do not let them say all unchecked against me;--remind them how they locked me up--remind Aunt Dorcas how she left me, and did not insist upon seeing, to comfort me--remind them, that I only met Mr. Tremenhere once, wilfully, and that he had known me as a little child--do not forget all this, Gillett, but remind them often of it." And she burst into a passionate flood of tears, and turned away. "Poor darling!" said the housekeeper, "they have been cruel; but it was not their faults--Master listens to them as he shouldn't listen to--Come, eat a bit of chicken--just a bit: I watched it cooking for you myself--do, there's a dear!" But all her coaxing was vain. "I'll come and sleep on the sofa in her room to-night," said Gillett to herself; "she's low and narvous, poor child!" "What's that?" cried Minnie, stopping in her hurried walk round the room. "Only the time, dear, striking; it's half-past six!" "The old hall clock!" whispered the girl--"my mother's clock--I wonder if I shall ever hear it again after to-night! I hope I may--I hope to Heaven I may!" And she slid gently on her knees, and raised her hands upwards. Gillett stood looking on in amazement, not unmixed with deep emotion. "Miss Minnie, dear, shall I stay, or go?" she whispered, touching her arm. Minnie started up. "Go," she said, hurriedly, looking towards the door--"go, and don't tell any one I have been agitated, or crying. Let me be quiet a short time, and--and--Heaven bless you, dear Gillett, for all your kindness--I _never_ shall forget it!"