"Talking, I suppose, as maids will," responded Madam. "Phoebe, to-morrow after breakfast bring all your clothes to my chamber. I must have you new apparelled." "Oh, Madam, give me leave to come also!" exclaimed Rhoda, with as much eagerness as she ever dared to show in her grandmother's presence. "I would so dearly like to hear what Phoebe is to have! Only, please, not a musk-coloured damask--you promised me that." "My dear," answered Madam, "you forget yourself. I cannot talk of such things to-day. You may come if you like." Supper was finished in silence. After supper, a pale-faced, tired-looking young man, who had been previously invisible, came into the parlour, and made a low reverence to Madam, which she returned with a queenly bend of her head. His black cassock and scarf showed him to be in holy orders. Madam rang the hand-bell, the servants filed in, and evening prayers were read by the young chaplain, in a thin, monotonous voice, with a manner which indicated that he was not interested himself, and did not expect interest in any one else. Then the servants filed out again; the chaplain kissed Madam's hand, and wished her good-night, bowed distantly to Rhoda, half bowed to Phoebe, instantly drew himself up as if he thought he was making a mistake, and finally disappeared. "'Tis time you were abed, maids," said Madam. Rhoda somewhat slowly rose, knelt before her grandmother, and kissed her hand. "Good-night, my dear. God bless thee, and make thee a good maid!" was Madam's response. Phoebe had risen, and stood, rather hesitatingly, behind her cousin. She was doubtful whether Madam would be pleased or displeased if she followed Rhoda's example. In her new life it seemed probable that she would not be short of opportunities for the exercise of meekness, forbearance, and humility. Madam's quick eyes detected Phoebe's difficulty in an instant. "Good-night, Phoebe," she said, rising. "Good-night, Madam," replied Phoebe in a low voice, as she followed Rhoda. It was evident that no relationship was to be recognised. "Here, you carry the candle," said Rhoda, nodding towards the hall table on which the candlesticks stood. "That's what you are here for, I suppose,--to save me trouble. Dear, I forgot my cloak,--see where it is! Bring it with you, Phoebe." Demurely enough Rhoda preceded Phoebe upstairs. But no sooner was the bedroom door closed behind them, than Rhoda threw herself into the large invalid chair, and laughed with hearty amusement. "Oh, didn't I take her in? Wasn't it neatly done, now? Didn't you admire me, Phoebe?" "You told her a lie!" retorted Phoebe, indignantly. "'Sh!--that's not a pretty word," said Rhoda, pursing her lips. "Say a fib, next time.--Nonsense! Not a bit of it, Phoebe. We had been upstairs since we came in." "Only a minute," answered Phoebe. "You made her think what was not true. Father called that a lie,--I don't know what you call it."