"Ah!" said Miss Reinhart, "that is too long; those very old housekeepers are faithful, and all that kind of thing, but they are seldom of much use. If everything does not go on as you wish in this unfortunate state of things, rely upon it that is what is wrong. You should pension this good Mrs. Eastwood off, and get some one young and active, with a thorough knowledge of her business." "We will talk about it later on," he said. "I have no doubt but that you are quite right." She looked up into his face with tender anxiety; I saw the look, and could have killed her for it. "You know that I am devoted to your interests." she said. "I will cheerfully and gladly do everything and anything I can," she said, "to help you. You know you may command my services when and how you will." She spoke with the air of a grandduchess offering to obtain court patronage, and my father made her a low, sweeping bow. Who was she, that she should talk to my father of "unfortunate circumstances," and of her devotion to him? As for things going wrong, it was not true--my mother, from her sofa, ordered the household, and I knew there was nothing wrong. When my father saw the angry, pained expression on my face, an idea seemed to occur to him. He called me to his side, and whispered to me: "You may run away and play, darling; and mind, Laura, you must never repeat one word of what you hear to your mother; it would not do to trouble her when little things go wrong." "Nothing has gone wrong," I answered. "Although she is ill, mamma sees to everything." I should have said much more, but that my father placed his hand over my mouth. "Hush! little one," he said. "I am afraid I give you too much license." "A little wholesome discipline needed," said Miss Reinhart; "but a sweet child, Sir Roland--a sweet child, indeed!" I could not hear what followed, but I feel quite sure that she whispered something which ended in these words: "Too much with Lady Tayne." I ran, fast as I could go, anywhere--where I could give vent to my childish fury. I could have stamped on her beautiful face. What right had she, a stranger, to talk about Mrs. Eastwood and mamma--to talk to papa as though he were an injured man--what right? I tried hard to keep all my indignation and anger, my fear and dread of what was to follow, to myself, but I could not bear it. I believe my heart would have broken but for Emma, my nurse. She found me behind the great cluster of laurel trees crying bitterly; and when she took me in her arms to console me, I told her all about it--told her every word. I know how she listened in dismay, for her easy, bony face grew pale, and she said nothing for some few minutes, then she cried out: "Oh, Miss Laura, you must be good and patient; don't set yourself against her--perhaps she means no harm."