"It is my belief that they would let you keep a whole menagerie, if Miss Queenie there chose to say she wished it," returned Caleb with a sly glance at her; "some folks are properly frightened." "Yes; Miss Titheridge will let you keep it," replied her sister quietly; "you need not be afraid; she is very kind now, Emmie." "Oh yes, I know; when you are down at your lessons she often comes and sits with me; she brought me that funny little man full of sweetmeats yesterday. I went to give some of them to Cathy." Queenie knew of these surreptitious visits, but she took no notice; it needed time to erase the memory of those years of neglect and cruelty. Emmie's sweet nature knew no resentment; but with Queenie it was different. She saw that Miss Titheridge was afraid of her. "She has reason," thought Queenie; "she has injured me deeply. If the time ever comes to get rid of us both, she will do so gladly; but I do not mean to give her the chance; I am determined to find work elsewhere." As soon as Emmie could safely be left for an hour or two Queenie resumed her work in the school-room unasked; now and then she stole upstairs for a peep at the invalid. She sometimes found Emmie asleep with the kitten in her arms, or surrounded by the pictures and flowers which the girls lavished on her. She would look up, and say cheerily as Queenie entered, "I am not a bit dull; Cathy and Clarice have been up, and just now Miss Titheridge brought me some jelly, and kittie and I have had such games," and then Queenie would go down again with a lightened heart to her uncongenial task. She often worked late into the night, that she might devote more time to Emmie. The child flagged and grew weary towards evening, and then Queenie never left her. Long after all the inmates of Granite Lodge had fallen into a refreshing sleep the young governess would trim the shaded lamp, and pore patiently over the pile of copy-books waiting for correction. Even when her head was on the pillow she could not always rest. The future lay dark before her; she must find other work; but where? that was the question. Emmie was gaining strength day by day; but for months, perhaps years, she would require the greatest care. The doctor's orders were stringent. She must not open a book for months; the brain would not bear the slightest pressure; she must lead a child's unthinking life--eat, drink, and play, and, above all, sleep. Emmie took very kindly to this _régime_. She spent most of her time in sleep; during the remainder of her waking hours she would lie in languid content watching the antics of her kitten, or waiting for Queenie to come and talk to her. Queenie made up her mind at last that she must speak to Miss Titheridge; and one evening she entered the little room where the governess sat casting up her accounts for the last month.