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that ‘dear little Dolores was a remarkable character, sadly misunderstood among those common-place people, the Merrifields, and unjustly used, too, and she should do her best for her!’

      Meantime Gillian, finding herself not wanted, had repaired to the schoolroom.

      ‘Oh, it is of no use,’ sighed Mysie, disconsolately. ‘I’ve ever so much morning’s work to make up, too. And I never shall! I’ve muzzled my head!’

      By which remarkable expression Mysie signified that fatigue, crying, and dinner had made her brains dull and heavy; but Gillian was a sensible elder sister.

      ‘Don’t try your sum yet, then,’ she said. ‘Practise your scales for half an hour, while I do my algebra, and then we’ll go over your German verbs together. I’ll tell Miss Vincent, and she wont’ mind, and I think mamma will be pleased if you try.’

      Gillian was too much used to noises not to be able to work an equation, and prepare her Virgil, to the sound of scales, and Mysie was a good deal restored by them and by hope.

      So when at length Constance had been summoned by her sister, who tore herself away from the arrangements, being bound to five-o’clock tea elsewhere, Mysie was discovered with a face still rather woe-begone, but hopeful and persevering, and though there still was a ‘bill of parcels’ where 11 and 3/4 lbs. of mutton at 13 and 1/2d. per lb. refused to come right, Lady Merrifield kissed her, said she had been a diligent child, and sent her off prancing in bliss to the old ‘still-room’ stove, where they were allowed a fire, basins, spoons, and strainers, and where the sugar lay in a snowy heap, and the blackberries in a sanguine pile.

      ‘There’s partiality!’ thought Dolores, and scowled, as she stood at the front door still gazing after Constance.

      ‘Won’t you come, Dolly?’ said Mysie. ‘Or haven’t you learnt your lessons?’

      ‘No,’ said Dolly, making one answer serve for both questions.

      ‘Oh! then you can’t. Shall I ask mamma to let you off?’

      ‘No, I don’t care. I don’t like messes! And what’s the use if you haven’t a cookery class?’

      ‘It’s such fun,’ said Val.

      ‘And our sisters did go to a cookery class at Dublin and taught Gill,’ added Mysie.

      ‘But if you haven’t done your lessons, you can’t go,’ said Valetta decidedly.

      Off they went, and Lady Merrifield presently crossed the hall, and saw Dolores’ attitude.

      ‘My dear, are you waiting to say those verses?’ she said kindly.

      ‘I hadn’t time to learn them, I went to sleep,’ said Dolores.

      ‘A very good thing too, my dear. Suppose we go over them together.’

      Aunt Lilias took the unwilling hand, led Dolores into the schoolroom, and for half an hour she went over the verses with her, explaining what was new to the girl, and vividly describing the agitation of Plymouth, and the flocks of people thronging in. ‘I must show her that I will be minded, but I will make it pleasant to her, poor child,’ she thought.

      And it could not have been otherwise than pleasant to her, but that she was reflecting all this time that she was being punished while Mysie was enjoying herself. Therefore she put the lid on her intellect, and was inconceivably stupid.

      CHAPTER VI. – PERSECUTION

      On Monday afternoon Dolores was sitting at the end of the long garden walk, upon a green garden-bench, with a crocodile’s head and tail roughly carved. The shouts of the others were audible in the distance beyond the belt of trees. Aunt Lily had driven into the town to meet her sisters, taking Fergus with her, whereas Dolores had never been out in the carriage. There was partiality! Though, to be sure, Fergus was to have a tooth out! Harry and Gillian were playing with the rest, and she had been invited to join, but she had made answer that she hated romping, and on being assured that no romping was necessary, she replied that she only wanted to read in peace. She had refused the “Thorn Fortress,” which she was told would explain the game, and had hunted out “Clare, or No Home,” to compare her lot with that of the homeless one.

      Certainly, she had not yet been sent to bed with a box on the ear because a countess had shown symptoms of noticing her more than her ugly, over-dressed cousin. But then Aunt Lily would not allow her to walk down alone to the Casement Villas to see dear Constance, and would let that farmer keep all those dreadful cows in the paddock, so that even going escorted was a terror to her.

      Nor had her handsome mourning been taken from her and old clothes of her cousin substituted for it. No, but she had been cruelly pulled about between Mrs. Halfpenny and the Silverton dressmaker with a mouthful of pins; and Aunt Lily had insisted on her dress being trimmed with velvet, instead of the jingling jet she preferred.

      Did they intercept her letters? She had had one from her father, sent from Falmouth, but only one from Maude Sefton in ten days! Moreover, she had one from Constance in her apron pocket, arrived that very afternoon, asking her to come down with Gillian on the Sundays, that the friends might enjoy themselves together while the classes were going on; but she made sure that all were so jealous of her friendship with Constance that no consent would be given.

      She did not hear or notice the whisperings in the laurels behind her—

      ‘Do you see that sulky old Croat, smoking his pipe under the tree?’

      ‘No, he is a Black Brunswicker.’

      ‘Nonsense, Willie; the Black Brunswickers weren’t till Bonaparte’s time.’

      ‘I don’t care, he is anything black and nasty; here goes!’

      ‘Oh stop; don’t shoot. I believe he is only a vivandiere. Besides, it’s treacherous—’

      ‘I tell you he is laying a train to blow up the tower. There!’

      An arrow struck the bench beside Dolores, who, more angry than she had ever been in her life, snatched it up, unheeding that it had no point to speak of, rushed headlong in pursuit, while, with a tremendous shout, Valetta and Wilfred flew before her to a waste overgrown place at the end of the kitchen garden.

      ‘We’ve shot a Croat!’

      ‘No, a Black Brunswicker.’

      ‘Oh ah! They are coming—the enemy! Into the fortress! Bar the wolf’s passage!’

      And as Dolores struggled through the bushes, she saw the whole family dashing into an outhouse, and the door slammed. She pushed against it, but an unearthly compound of howls, yells, shouts and bangs replied.

      ‘Gillian! Harry, I say,’ she cried in great anger; ‘come out, I want to speak to you.’

      But her voice was lost in the war-whoops within, and the louder she knocked, the louder grew the din, till she walked off, swelling with grief and indignation. Mysie, after all her professions of friendship, to use her in this way! And Harry and Gillian, who should have kept the others within bounds!

      Slowly she crossed the lawn, just as Lady Merrifield, the other two aunts, and Fergus, all came out from the glass door of the drawing-room. Aunt Jane, a trim little dark-eyed woman, looking at two and forty much the same as she might have done at five and twenty; and Aunt Adeline, pretty and delicately fair, with somewhat of the same grace as Lady Merrifield, but more languor, and an air as if everything about her were for effect. Though not specially fond of theses aunts, Dolores was glad to have them as witnesses of her ill-usage.

      ‘There stands Dolly, like a statue of Diana, dart in hand,’ exclaimed Aunt Adeline.

      ‘Yes,’ said Dolores; ‘I wish to know, Aunt Lilias, if Wilfred and Valetta are to call me names, and shoot arrows at me?’

      ‘What do you mean, my dear?’

      ‘They came at me while I was sitting quietly reading—there—and shot at me, and called me such horrid names I can’t repeat them, and ran away. Then the others, Gillian and Harry and all, would not listen to me, but shut themselves up in an out-house

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