"Do you know, Vevette, I am sure I saw that same figure that I saw before near Torden's cottage with the woman. It was just under the archway, as plain as could be against the sky, and it slipped away just as before. Who or what can it be?" "Some one hanging about after one of the maids, perhaps," said I, though I had my own thoughts upon the matter. "Now you must not stay any longer or my aunt will be angry and think I am corrupting you." "Oh, no, she won't," answered Rosamond. "I asked her if I might come, and she said yes, and wanted me to bring you all kinds of nice things, but I thought you would not care for them. I think she is very sorry she made such an ado about the matter, now that it is over. Well, good-night, dear Vevette; I hope you will sleep." But I could not sleep, except feverishly and by snatches, till after the birds began to sing in the morning. Then indeed I had a good nap, and waked refreshed. I washed and dressed, and went softly into my mother's room. She was already up, and kneeling before the table, on which lay, always open, her Bible, and the little worn prayer-book she brought from France. She beckoned me to kneel beside her, and we said our prayers together, as usual. Then, as we rose, she drew me to her and kissed me. "The evil spirit has gone out—is it not so?" said she, looking into my face with a smile. "Yes, maman, I hope so," I answered. "I am very sorry about the book, and I will try to forgive Betty." "That is spoken well, my child; and now I must tell you that I think you have been somewhat hardly dealt by in this matter. Looking it over coolly, I can see that I did not make enough allowance for indecision and embarrassment on your part, after you received the book." "Indeed and truly, maman, I meant to show you the book, but I quite forgot it till we came here. Then when Betty carried it off, I did not know what to do." "There was but one thing to do, and that was to come and tell me all about it," said my mother. "That would have saved all the trouble." "So Rosamond said. Oh, maman, she was so good last night." "She is a dear maid," said my mother; "by far the best of the three." "Better than Margaret?" said I, surprised, for I had looked upon Meg as a pattern of all excellence. "Yes, because she is truly humble-minded—a rare and most precious quality. She is truly poor in spirit, while Meg, with all her good qualities—but we will not discuss the faults of others. Now, do you know what is to be done next?" "I must go to my aunt and tell her that I am sorry," said I, "but, maman, what shall I say? I cannot say that I am sorry for lending Betty the book, for I did not lend it to her—she took it." "Tell her just how it was, and say you are sorry for bringing the book here. I will go with you, if it will make matters easier." We found my aunt in the still-room—luckily alone—fussing over some peppermint she was distilling.