“Did godmamma Sarah say so?” cried Sara, suddenly losing her own self-consciousness in her interest in this bit of mystery. “Child, do not be rash,” cried I, in some agitation. “Your godmamma knows nothing about her; it is all a mistake.” “Did you ask her?” said Sara. “Godmamma, it is written in her face. When the rector was speaking, when you were speaking, even when I was speaking, it was quite evident she knew her abroad, and remembered who she was; but she will not tell. It is not a guess; I am perfectly sure of it. She knows all about her, and she will not tell.” “It is quite a mistake, Sara,” cried I, trembling in spite of myself. “She has taken some fancy into her head about Mr. Luigi, some merely visionary notion that he has some bad intention, I cannot tell you what. But I am certain she knows nothing about this Countess. Child, don’t think you know better than anybody else! I have thought a great deal about it, and made up my mind. Your godmamma has grown fanciful, she has taken this into her head. Don’t be rash in speaking of your fancies; it might give her pain;--and your idea is all a mistake.” “Will you ask her? or will you let me ask her?” cried Sara. “If she says ‘No,’ I shall be satisfied.” “I will do no such thing,” said I. “She is my only sister, I will do nothing to molest or vex her; and, Sara, while I am here, neither shall you.” Sara did not say anything for a few minutes. She allowed me to pick up my letter in silence, for we had finished breakfast. She let me gather up my papers and ring the bell, and make my way to the door. Then, as I stood there waiting for Ellis, she brushed past me rapidly. “Godmamma” said Sara, looking into my face for a moment, “all the same, _she knows_,” and had passed the next instant, and was gliding upstairs before I had recovered my composure. How pertinacious she was! Against my will this had an effect on me. CHAPTER VIII.