“For, of course,” concluded her ladyship, “I could not expect a woman of your years to take an under-nurse's place!” “Please your ladyship, I will gladly,” said Jane, eager to avoid or at least postpone the necessity forcing itself upon her. “I intend you to go--and _at once_,” replied her ladyship; “--that is, the moment Mrs. Thornycroft arrives. The housekeeper will take care that you have your month's wages in lieu of warning.” “Very well, my lady!--Please, your ladyship, when may I come and see the child?” “Not at all. There is no necessity.” “Never, my lady?” “Decidedly.” “Then at least I may ask why you send me away so suddenly!” “I told you that I want a properly qualified nurse to take your place. My wish is to have the child more immediately under my own eye than would be agreeable if you kept your place. I hope I speak plainly!” “Quite, my lady.” “And let me, for your own sake, recommend you to behave more respectfully when you find another place.” What she was doing lady Ann was incapable of knowing. A woman love-brooding over a child is at the gate of heaven; to take her child from her is to turn her away from more than paradise. Jane went in silence, seeming to accept the inevitable, too proud to wipe away the tear whose rising she could not help--a tear not for herself, nor yet for the child, but for the dead mother in whose place she left such a woman. She walked slowly back to the nursery, where her charge was asleep, closed the door, sat down by the cot, and sat for a while without moving. Then her countenance began to change, and slowly went on changing, until at last, as through a mist of troubled emotion, out upon the strong, rugged face broke, with strange suggestion of a sunset, the glow of resolve and justified desire. A maid more friendly than the rest brought her some tea, but Jane said nothing of what had occurred. When the child awoke, she fed him, and played with him a long time--till he was thoroughly tired, when she undressed him, and laying him down, set about preparing his evening meal. No one could have perceived in her any difference, except indeed it were a subdued excitement in her glowing eyes. When it was ready, she went to her box, took from it a small bottle, and poured a few dark-coloured drops into the food. “God forgive me! it's but this once!” she murmured. The child seemed not quite to relish his supper, but did not refuse it, and was presently asleep in her arms. She laid him down, took a book, and began to read. CHAPTER III. _THE FLIGHT._