'I have told you before that you are not my governess, and I won't be lectured by you; but as for the photo----' 'It is not a photo I wear to-day.' 'What then?' 'An ornament which I wear because--because----' 'What?' asked Miss De Jobbyns, impatiently. 'It is the anniversary of papa's birth.' 'And you won't show it to me?' 'I have not said so,' replied Alison, gently, as she drew up the object from her bosom. It was her father's badge, and the badge of his father before him, as a baronet of Nova Scotia--a gold oval species of medal, bearing in a scutcheon, _argent_, a St. Andrew's cross, _azure_, with thereon an inscutcheon of the royal arms of Scotland, with an Imperial crown, and the motto of Henry, Duke of Rothesay, '_Fax mentis honestœ gloria_.' Miss De Jobbyns, who had never seen anything of the kind before, surveyed it with equal wonder and admiration. 'What a funny thing! I would so like to wear it at a ball to-night,' she exclaimed. 'Excuse me,' replied Alison, as she replaced it in her bosom, 'but I cannot lend it.' 'How greedy of you! Then you will sell it, perhaps?' '_Sell it!_' repeated Alison, with an inflection of voice that struck even the dull ear of the soap-boiler's daughter. 'Not for worlds!' 'I thought you said that your father was dead.' 'He is dead.' 'Then who is that queer-looking old Scotsman whom Irene and Iseulte see speaking to you sometimes?' 'He was my father's faithful valet, and is now my faithful friend,' replied Alison, with mingled hauteur and emotion. 'Dear me! how romantic--how funny! But I suppose you will have no place now to spend your holidays in?' 'None,' sighed Alison, who had never thought of them till then, and she looked round the bare, bleak school-room, the scene of her daily toil, and where nearly all her time was passed now; but just then the carriage was announced, and she was relieved of the oppressive society of the somewhat irrepressible Miss Victoria De Jobbyns. If the children talked thus of poor old Archie Auchindoir, they might speak of the insolent 'Captain Smith.' Thus she might lose her situation and be again cast on the world. Oh, how tempest-tossed was her poor little heart! The perfect, self-posed, and ladylike manner of Alison was to a certain extent lost upon the rather rough, pampered, and hoydenish damsel who had just driven off to the Row to meet her admirer, no doubt, and who saw in her only a paid dependant, whom her mother might discard like one of the housemaids at an hour's notice or less. Her sweet nature, her natural lightness and cheerfulness, her readiness and wish to oblige, yet never intrusively in any way, were all lost on the coarse natures of those among whom her evil fortune had cast her.