'Well, they really say her wealth is absolutely immense. Her last husband, the Russian merchant, left her everything. She has not a human relation, and she is in the best set.' 'You were always a match-maker, Monica,' said my father, stopping, and putting his hand kindly on hers. 'But it won't do. No, no, Monica; we must take care of little Maud some other way.' I was relieved. We women have all an instinctive dread of second marriages, and think that no widower is quite above or below that danger; and I remember, whenever my father, which indeed was but seldom, made a visit to town or anywhere else, it was a saying of Mrs. Rusk-- 'I shan't wonder, neither need you, my dear, if he brings home a young wife with him.' So my father, with a kind look at her, and a very tender one on me, went silently to the library, as he often did about that hour. I could not help resenting my Cousin Knollys' officious recommendation of matrimony. Nothing I dreaded more than a step-mother. Good Mrs. Rusk and Mary Quince, in their several ways, used to enhance, by occasional anecdotes and frequent reflections, the terrors of such an intrusion. I suppose they did not wish a revolution and all its consequences at Knowl, and thought it no harm to excite my vigilance. But it was impossible long to be vexed with Cousin Monica. 'You know, my dear, your father is an oddity,' she said. 'I don't mind him--I never did. You must not. Cracky, my dear, cracky--decidedly cracky!' And she tapped the corner of her forehead, with a look so sly and comical, that I think I should have laughed, if the sentiment had not been so awfully irreverent. 'Well, dear, how is our friend the milliner?' 'Madame is suffering so much from pain in her ear, that she says it would be quite impossible to have the honour--' 'Honour--fiddle! I want to see what the woman's like. Pain in her ear, you say? Poor thing! Well, dear, I think I can cure that in five minutes. I have it myself, now and then. Come to my room, and we'll get the bottles.' So she lighted her candle in the lobby, and with a light and agile step she scaled the stairs, I following; and having found the remedies, we approached Madame's room together. I think, while we were still at the end of the gallery, Madame heard and divined our approach, for her door suddenly shut, and there was a fumbling at the handle. But the bolt was out of order. Lady Knollys tapped at the door, saying--'we'll come in, please, and see you. I've some remedies, which I'm sure will do you good.' There was no answer; so she opened the door, and we both entered. Madame had rolled herself in the blue coverlet, and was lying on the bed, with her face buried in the pillow, and enveloped in the covering. 'Perhaps she's asleep?' said Lady Knollys, getting round to the side of the bed, and stooping over her.