CHAPTER XXI.

IT

LUCY SUFFERS.

T was decided by Hester and Miriam Lynne that their young niece should go, after Christmas, to a good school in their locality. She was to be admitted as a day-scholar, although the establishment was professedly a boarding-school.

But a severe cold, caught at Christmas, made the delicate little Lucy unfit for her new life, and she was not sent to the school until March. She had already been so well grounded in general studies by her Aunt Hester, that her progress was very rapid; and her teachers soon felt justified in putting her into a class of girls who were considerably older than herself.

But poor Lucy paid the usual penalty of advancement. Her companions were indignant that one so young should rank with themselves,

and there were sneers and cross words that were hard to bear. It is probable that she would have overcome this ill-will speedily enough, if one girl had not persisted in artfully stirring up the rest

to resentment.

Her schoolfellows would have found out that Lucy was as gentle as she was clever, and they would have grown ashamed of their petty spite, if Emma Grange had not been among them.

Emma Grange was a weekly boarder, and she had managed to secure a certain amount of popularity. She did not mind not mind "making a door-mat of herself," as some of the girls were wont to say. She was ready to serve to the uttermost all the wealthiest and best-born of the pupils. There was something naturally servile in her; and many of those who accepted her attentions despised her in their hearts.

But she was a useful and pleasant person for all that. Mrs. Grange was an indulgent mother, and Emma had plenty of pocket-money, to say nothing of the weekly cake of prodigious size, often accompanied by a parcel of comfits, which she brought from home. Nobody could afford to

quarrel with a girl who was so richly supplied with "goodies." Even Flora Delancy, the queen of the school, and a general's daughter to boot, was kind enough to partake of Emma's dainty things.

Lucy made few complaints, and her aunts believed her to be thoroughly contented and happy. What, then, was their astonishment, when a startling outburst came at last!

Hester sat at her window, watching the lengthening shadows of her favourite poplars now and again, and then diligently sewing a seam in the skirt of her niece's new frock. It was a bright, breezy afternoon; her old friends, the rooks, cawed loudly as they flew to and fro between the poplars and the churchyard elms. A large bunch of daffodils made a spot of gold in the sombre little room, and reminded its occupant that the winter was past, and the time of flowers was nigh at hand.

A loud ringing of the door-bell caused the quiet Hester to start from her seat. It was rather earlier than Lucy's usual hour for returning, and a quick fear darted into her aunt's mind. Had anything alarming taken place?

The door of the little sitting-room was flung open, and Lucy herself rushed in. Herself, and yet not herself; the child's face and dress wore a new and strange aspect. Her cheeks were deeply flushed, her features were working with some violent agitation; her hat had been put on carelessly at the back of her head, and her neat cloth jacket was unbuttoned. In her ungloved hands she carried her bag, into which her books had evidently been thrust in wild haste.

As this spectacle presented itself, Aunt Hester's work slid off her lap, and lay unheeded on the floor.

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'Lucy, what has happened?" she asked, doing her utmost to speak calmly.

Some seconds elapsed before the little girl could reply, and then her words burst out passionately, like a torrent.

"I'll never go back to school again-never, never! Emma Grange is as wicked as Nana Sahib, or Nero, or anybody! She says that my papa was a dreadful man—a man who stole money, and ought to have been made a convict; and she says that a gentleman who was engaged

to Aunt Miriam would not marry her, because she was not respectable enough for him. I wish

Here Lucy paused for breath.

Hester's face was very pale, and her hands trembled as she drew her young niece towards her.

"Hush, darling!" she said, "don't say any more until you are calm. Be quiet for a few minutes, and ask God to subdue your passion. There; I have taken off your hat and jacket. Now kneel down here at my side."

Agitated as the child was, she obeyed without hesitation. Moments passed away while she knelt with her face hidden in her aunt's lap-moments of bitter agony to Hester. But when the little head was lifted, her gentle fingers stroked the rough curls as she said tenderly—

"Are you more composed, dear Lucy?"

"Yes, Aunt Hester; I think God will keep me quiet now."

"Did Emma Grange say all these cruel things to you, my child?"

"Not to me, but to Flora Delancy. She meant