The room was still and dim, and she was very tired, by and by the troubles of the day melted into dreams, and she slept. How long, she could not tell. A light gleaming in her face aroused her; she started up in sudden consternation, for Mr. Andrews stood looking at her, in, it must be said, equal consternation. He had moved the screen from the nursery lamp, and coming up to the bed to look at his boy, had seen the not unpretty, but very unexpected picture of the two sleeping in this close embrace. Missy's first feeling was one of anger; but surely Mr. Andrews had a right in his own nursery, and, as usual, she was in the wrong--she was where she had no business to be; her bitter vexation showed itself on her face. "I beg your pardon," he said, stepping back, "I--I didn't know you were here." "Jay cried so, I came in to pacify him," she said, "and he would not let me go." "You are very kind to him," said the father earnestly. "Not particularly," she returned, fastening up the side of the crib, and laying him softly further over on his pillow. "One doesn't like to see a child imposed upon, and Eliza was very wrong to leave him." "Miss Rothermel," said Mr. Andrews, still earnestly, and Miss Rothermel prepared herself for something she did not want to hear, "I have no words to express to you the annoyance that I feel about Gabrielle." Missy waved her hand impatiently. "But I have words to express a resolution that I have formed this evening, and that is, that it shall be the last time that you shall suffer from her. I shall send her away to boarding-school as soon as I can make the necessary arrangements; and that I hope will be within a week, at furthest." It was now Missy's turn to be in earnest. "I hope you won't do anything of the kind, Mr. Andrews, on my account at least. I can only assure you, it would be far more annoying than anything she has ever done. I should never forgive myself for having caused you to do what I am quite sure would be the worst thing for her. She is very well situated now. You have good servants, she has the free country life she needs, and no bad companions. If she can't improve now, I'm afraid she never will." "I'm afraid she never will, wherever she may be," answered Mr. Andrews, with almost a groan. "I could tell you something of her, if--if--" "I am sure of one thing," rushed on Missy, not heeding what she might have heard if she had listened; "I am sure of one thing, I should never have a moment's peace, if I felt I had been in any way the cause of sending from her home such a desolate little child. I cannot forget that I had a friendship for her mother, and I should be always followed by the thought of her reproach." Mr. Andrews' face changed; he bent his head slightly. The change was not lost on Missy.