COUNTRY HOUSE.
CHAPTER XXXVIII. DANCING.
CHAPTER XXXIX. FEIGNING.
CHAPTER XL. CONSULTING.
CHAPTER XLI. SPEECHIFYING.
CHAPTER XLII. COOKING.
CHAPTER XLIII. SOUNDING.
CHAPTER XLIV. COMPETING.
CHAPTER XLV. MISCHIEF—MAKING.
CHAPTER XLVI. PRETENDING.
CHAPTER XLVII. DEBATING.
CHAPTER XLVIII. INVESTIGATING.
BOOK THE FIFTH—THE COTTAGE.
CHAPTER XLIX. EMILY SUFFERS.
CHAPTER L. MISS LADD ADVISES.
CHAPTER LI. THE DOCTOR SEES.
CHAPTER LII. 'IF I COULD FIND A FRIEND!'
CHAPTER LIII. THE FRIEND IS FOUND.
CHAPTER LIV. THE END OF THE FAINTING FIT.
BOOK THE SIXTH—HERE AND THERE.
CHAPTER LV. MIRABEL SEES HIS WAY.
CHAPTER LVI. ALBAN SEES HIS WAY.
CHAPTER LVII. APPROACHING THE END.
CHAPTER LVIII. A COUNCIL OF TWO.
CHAPTER LIX. THE ACCIDENT AT BELFORD.
CHAPTER LX. OUTSIDE THE ROOM.
CHAPTER LXI. INSIDE THE ROOM.
CHAPTER LXII. DOWNSTAIRS.
CHAPTER LXIII. THE DEFENSE OF MIRABEL.
CHAPTER LXIV. ON THE WAY TO LONDON.
BOOK THE LAST—AT HOME AGAIN.
CHAPTER LXV. CECILIA IN A NEW CHARACTER.
CHAPTER LXVI. ALBAN'S NARRATIVE.
CHAPTER LXVII. THE TRUE CONSOLATION.
BOOK THE FIRST—AT SCHOOL.
CHAPTER I. THE SMUGGLED SUPPER.
Outside the bedroom the night was black and still. The small rain fell too softly to be heard in the garden; not a leaf stirred in the airless calm; the watch-dog was asleep, the cats were indoors; far or near, under the murky heaven, not a sound was stirring.
Inside the bedroom the night was black and still.
Miss Ladd knew her business as a schoolmistress too well to allow night-lights; and Miss Ladd's young ladies were supposed to be fast asleep, in accordance with the rules of the house. Only at intervals the silence was faintly disturbed, when the restless turning of one of the girls in her bed betrayed itself by a gentle rustling between the sheets. In the long intervals of stillness, not even the softly audible breathing of young creatures asleep was to be heard.
The first sound that told of life and movement revealed the mechanical movement of the clock. Speaking from the lower regions, the tongue of Father Time told the hour before midnight.
A soft voice rose wearily near the door of the room. It counted the strokes of the clock—and reminded one of the girls of the lapse of time.
'Emily! eleven o'clock.'
There was no reply. After an interval the weary voice tried again, in louder tones:
'Emily!'
