had undertaken there might, indeed, be interests if her pupils were attractive girls, with warm hearts and well-developed intelligences. If they were apt to learn she would find an interest in teaching, if they were ready to love she would find a delight in gaining their affection.

She must avoid Mrs. Boxholder as much as possible. The lady was a bustling person, who would probably have much to occupy her, and that would keep her out of the schoolroom.

Theresa recalled the strange proposal of Mr. Percival Curgenven through the carriage window, and did not know what to make of it. Was he in earnest, or was it 'chaff'? He had lived much in the far West-gone cattle ranching, gold digging; he had mixed with all kinds of persons in the Western States, and had fallen into an offhand, rollicking manner; he said things he meant seriously in a joking manner, and he made his jokes without a muscle of his face relaxing. What he meant Theresa did not know. She placed no great confidence in his sincerity when he spoke. If he really did wish her hand, he would write. If he did not write then she might conclude that what he shouted through the window was a bit of his nonsense. She put the thought of Percival from her mind, to think only of her present position, and of the duties she had undertaken.

Weary with her long journey, and sick and faint with hunger, she sank on the bed and fell asleep. She was awakened by the maid and the groom entering with her box.

'Here you are, Miss, and please—when you've tidied yourself a bit, your hair, and washed-missus says you are to come down to tea.'

Theresa, stupid with sleep, raised her head from the pillow and said, 'I want nothing.'

'Lor!' exclaimed the maid; if missus says you are to eat, eat you must. No one here can do what they like; they must do what missus orders, so clean yourself a bit and come down.' The groom had left the room.

'Lor! you poor creetur,' said the maid. haven't been crying! And you've a bad arm.

'Well, now, if you

Come, give me the

key, and I'll unpack your box for you, missus notwithstanding, who said I wasn't to do nothing of the kind, so as you mightn't come to expect to be waited upon.'

CHAPTER XIX.

IN A SITUATION.

NEXT day Theresa made acquaintance with her pupils. Of these Rose, the elder, was supposed by her mother, and supposed herself to be highly accomplished. She was to be finished. Flora, the younger, was admitted to be backward, and to need teaching from the rudiments. Rose was, her mother bade Theresa observe, a beauty of a striking and exceptional character. She was, in fact, not bad looking, but to an unprejudiced eye would not be accounted beautiful. She had her mother's nose; she was supercilious, and did not believe that anything she could be taught would improve her anything, that is to say, which a forty pound governess could teach. A music-master at a guinea a lesson might give her a hint that would improve her touch, and a Parisian governess at a hundred per annum might assist her in acquiring fluency in French. Theresa found that her attempts to instruct Rose were received with stolid contempt. Rose played the piano without feeling, she sang out of tune, her French pronunciation was execrable, and she knew nothing of Italian or German, and because she knew nothing of these languages held their literature as sovereignly stupid, and entirely beneath consideration.

She

Flora was in face like her father, sandy of hair, irregular of feature, with more flesh in her face than bone and muscle. was an uninteresting child, listless in manner, unintelligent, and though not unamiable, yet incapable of appreciating affection. She was obedient, but gave little promise of her studies leading to any other result than the exhaustion of the powers and patience of her teacher. Rose, Theresa found, was ready to be actively disagreeable; Flora to be passively uninteresting.

The weather was wet. The rain had come on during the night, and a steady downpour lasted all day.

The governess and children had luncheon with Mr. and Mrs. Boxholder in the dining-room at one o'clock. After lunch the lady of the house told Rose to be ready to drive with her that afternoon to pay a few obligatory visits.

'You, Mrs. Lambert, will take Flora out for a walk.' "In the rain?' asked Theresa.

'In this family we always take constitutionals, whatever the weather be. You have, of course, an umbrella?'

'Yes, I have one.' And a waterproof?'

'I am sorry to say I have not.'

'Then you will be wet through. No one should come to Scotland without a waterproof. Knowledge is only to be acquired by experience. After a sousing rain in Perthshire, and getting wet to the bone, you will remember to the end of your life to have a waterproof with you when you come to Scotland. I make a point of my children taking exercise every day, for an hour at least. Let me see, you do not know the country. Suppose you go as far as the Seven Dubs. Flora-the Seven Dubs to-day; you will show your governess the way; and tell me on your return what observable things you have seen in the hedges, in the sky, on the road. Remember the story of "Eyes and no Eyes." Mrs. Lambert, you will direct the child's attention to everything that may improve her mind and ought to arrest her attention and quicken observation, to everything that may be encountered en route to Seven Dubs and back-except, of course, men.'

The carriage was driven to the front door to receive Mrs. Boxholder and her eldest daughter. The former was in the hall before Rose had come down.

'Mrs. Lambert,' said the lady, 'you will please to see that I always take Miss Boxholder about with me. I cannot trust her with anyone whom I do not know and on whom I cannot rely. You perceive she is so very attractive-such a beauty; and there are all sorts of persons about the roads-people from the South, tourists, and what not, concerning whom one knows nothing; and a lively girl and an heiress-for she will inherit Drumduskie, as well as her father's wealth from other sources-must be guarded most carefully. Some day or other, perhaps I may let her go out a walk with you-not to-day. You will remember to cultivate the mind and form the taste of Miss Flora on your constitutional.'

When Mrs. Boxholder had driven off with Rose, Theresa stood in the porch looking despondingly at the rain, holding her small umbrella in the only hand she could use. She had a light lady's cloak, too light to resist the rain.

Then Mr. Boxholder appeared in the hall, looking about him. 'Miss Lambert,' said he, 'I cannot really permit you to get

drenched. Of course you must take the hour's walk, as my wife has ordered it; but you positively must wear some protection against the weather. I think-perhaps I might venture-I am sure my wife has got a waterproof, and I have no doubt we can get it shaken out and dried before she returns, and so will know nothing about it having been used.'

'Oh, thank you most kindly,' said Theresa. I should not venture to put on anything of hers without her permission.'

'Perhaps you are right. Yes. It would be awkward were it not dried in time and hung up in its accustomed place, and she were to discover-upon my word I don't know what we should do. Now consider this. I have a light waterproof overcoat. It won't in the least matter your wearing that. No one will be on the road-not a carter, even-in this detestable weather. Will you excuse me, and put on my overcoat. 'Pon my word it won't look amiss, and it will keep you dry as snuff.'

'Really, Mr. Boxholder, you are most kind; but-'

'But positively it does my heart good to be called plain Boxholder, and not lairded and Drumduskied. You won't?well, go out in this rain unprotected you shall not. Let me see! The gig umbrella! no, that is too heavy for you to hold up. I have it, my tartan-the Drumduskie plaid excogitated by her ladyship. Spread it out and use it as a shawl. Bless you! if she does see it has been rained upon she'll be as pleased as Punch, thinking I have been out figuring in my tartan. She'll never fancy you wore it. And I'll take a turn afterwards round the garden in it, and then, with a white conscience, swear I wore it.' The good-natured cornfactor would take no refusal: he enveloped Theresa in the plaid.

'There,' said he, 'that's first-rate. Don't you be afraid that Flora will peach. Not she. She's too much afraid of mammy, ain't you, Flora ? '

Then back into his smoking-room dived Drumduskie, and Theresa and her pupil sallied forth into the rain.

It was not possible through the veil of descending raindrops to see anything of the landscape, or much in the hedges, on which to comment for the illumination and nutriment of the pupil's mind; and of travellers along the road there were none.

'What are the Seven Dubs?' asked Theresa.

'I don't know,' answered Flora.

'But you know where they are?'

"Yes I think so.'

'Are there seven anythings there?'

'I'm sure I don't know. But please, Mrs. Lambert, don't ask me questions. Mamma said I was to inquire of you, and not be put off, she said, by being questioned myself.'

Days and weeks passed at Drumduskie. Days not always wet; but fair as well as wet, all went on in the house in the same routine of lessons, meals, and walks. Flora was catechised by her mother every few days, and then Theresa was lectured by her on the disappointment occasioned by the slow progress made by the unfortunate child.

'The talents are there,' said Mrs. Boxholder, tapping the low dull brow of the girl; they have to be brought out. That is your work. That is what is expected of you, Mrs. Lambert. She is a Drumduskie, and therefore cannot be a fool, and no folly, I can assure you, comes to her from the Pamphlets. The Pamphlets are a remarkably active-minded family. No-the faculties are locked in the child, and what we want is to have them drawn out. I am sorry that so far, somehow, you do not seem to have hit on the right system, or that you have gone the wrong way to work -Flora does not seem to me to have got on a bit.'

Again and again did Theresa ask herself whether it would be possible for her to endure the slavery in this house for an entire twelvemonth. She was forced to exercise over herself the greatest control, when her blood boiled up at the insolence of the woman who was mistress of the place. The poor girl, Flora, cowered before her mother-was worried by her into stupidity or sullenness. She really had few abilities, unhappily she had no more loveableness in her than exists in a bit of putty; yet Mr. Boxholder loved best this his youngest, and sought occasion to show her his fondness, unobserved by his wife, who rebuked him when she detected him with Flora, as spoiling the girl, and distracting her mind from her lessons. There was no escape possible for Theresa-she had no money, and must remain at Drumduskie, and endure what was put on her, till she had earned sufficient to enable her to leave. She had, moreover, more than half engaged to stay the twelvemonth with the Boxholders when an arrangement had been made relative to her going there.

A month passed before a line reached her from Mr. Percival Curgenven, and that was a mere apology for not having returned the borrowed five shillings earlier. The matter had escaped his VOL. XIX.-NO. 112, N.S.

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