"Oh, yes. I expect she'll be good with you; you are young, and will be able to enter into her pleasures better than I can--my poor head is unable to bear much." "And about the lessons?" asked the new governess. "Teach her just as you like. She's a fearful little ignoramus, I'm afraid; she's made up of oddments. Anything she can pick up from the cottagers, or from her father, she retains with ease, but knowledge she ought to have acquired she is quite deficient in, I imagine. I'm afraid you'll be horrified at her ignorance." Margaret rose and placed a cushion at Mrs. Medhurst's back, as she noticed she fidgeted restlessly in her chair. "Thank you--thank you; that's heaps nicer. How kind of you to notice!" and the sweet smile that accompanied the words transfigured the otherwise cold look of the speaker's beautiful face. Mr. Medhurst came into the room soon after, and the conversation became more general. Several times he glanced anxiously at his wife, and then he crossed to Miss Woodford: "Mrs. Medhurst has not been very well to-day, and one thing she enjoys more than anything else is music; we are so shut off from it here. Would it tire you too much to sing, or play?" "I haven't unpacked my box, but I can remember some of Mendelssohn's short things, if that will do?" answered Margaret readily. "Yes, indeed, she likes them so much." The piano was one of Brinsmead's best, and the musician soon lost herself in the joy of her themes. Her touch was exquisite, and she seemed to pour her whole soul into the expression she produced from her fingers. She went from "The Bees' Wedding," thrilling with its busy revellings, into quieter grooves, until gently there stole through the room the subtle exquisiteness of No. 1 of "Songs Without Words." There was a hush over the room as she rose from the piano, and for a moment she feared she had not given pleasure. Then she caught the grave glance of appreciation of her host as, offering her a seat, he said quietly, "Thank you." Mrs. Medhurst did not speak, but as she rose to say good night, Margaret noticed something like the glimmer of tears in her eyes. The girl was very tired when she went to bed, and the sun was streaming in at her window before she awoke the following morning. She sat up and looked round her room with a puzzled air, wondering vaguely for a few moments where she was. Then the remembrance of all that had happened returned, and, looking at her watch, she discovered with dismay it was nine o'clock. She dressed hurriedly, and came downstairs, feeling anxious as to what would be thought of her unpunctuality if breakfast should be over. No one last night had remembered to tell her what hour it would be, and she had forgotten to ask. She encountered James in the hall with a tray in his hand. "I am afraid I am late," she ventured. "Oh no, miss; Miss Ellice is in the garden, and has not breakfasted yet. You're all right," he answered, a little patronisingly.