Miss Chattaway possesses a will of her own. She has the same insignificant features, pale leaden complexion, small, sly, keen light eyes that characterise her father. She would like to hold undisputed sway as the house's mistress; but the inclination has to be concealed; for the real mistress of Trevlyn Hold may not be displaced. She is sitting in the background, at a table apart, bending over her desk. A tall, majestic lady, in a stiff green silk dress and an imposing cap, in person very like Mrs. Ryle. It is Miss Trevlyn, usually called Miss Diana, the youngest daughter of the late Squire. You would take her to be at least ten years older than her sister, Mrs. Chattaway, but in point of fact she is that lady's junior by a year. Miss Trevlyn is, to all intents and purposes, mistress of Trevlyn Hold, and she rules its internal economy with a firm sway. "Maude, you should go to bed," Mrs. Chattaway had said for the fourth or fifth time. A graceful girl of thirteen turned her dark, violet-blue eyes and pretty light curls upon Mrs. Chattaway. She had been leaning on the table watching the backgammon. Something of the soft, sweet expression visible in Mrs. Chattaway's face might be traced in this child's; but in Maude it was blended with greater intellect. "It is not my fault, Aunt Edith," she gently said. "I should like to go. I am tired." "Be quiet, Maude!" broke from Miss Chattaway. "Mamma, I wish you wouldn't worry about bed! I don't choose Maude to go up until I go. She helps me to undress." Poor Maude looked sleepy. "I can be going on, Octave," she said to Miss Chattaway. "You can hold your tongue and wait, and not be ungrateful," was the response of Octavia Chattaway. "But for papa's kindness, you would not have a bed to go to. Cris, you are cheating! that was not sixes!" It was at this juncture that the awkward knock came to the door. "Come in!" cried Mrs. Chattaway. Either her gentle voice was not heard, for Cris and his sister were disputing just then, or the boy's modesty would not allow him to respond. He knocked again. "See who it is, Cris," came forth the ringing voice of Miss Trevlyn. Cris did not choose to obey. "Open the door, Maude," said he. Maude did as she was bid: she had little chance allowed her in that house of doing otherwise. Opening the door, she saw the boy standing there. "What is it, Bill?" she asked in surprise. "Please, is the Squire there, Miss Maude?" "No," answered Maude. "He is not well, and has gone to bed." This appeared to be a poser for Bill, and he stood considering. "Is Madam in there?" he presently asked. "Who is it, Maude?" came again in Miss Trevlyn's commanding tones. Maude turned her head. "It is Bill Webb, Aunt Diana." "What does he want?" Bill stepped in. "Please, Miss Diana, I came to tell the Squire the news. I thought he might be angry with me if I did not, seeing as I knowed of it." "The news?" repeated Miss Diana, looking imperiously at Bill.