'No,' I said a little wearily as I sat down, and drew a chair forward for her. 'I have told Miss Willoughby I cannot do it.'

'Is that your final decision? Does she know it is?'

'Yes, and she is very vexed about it.'

'Of course she is. My dear Hilda, I am glad. I think I must tell you now about it. She is a clever woman, but not a good one. Do you know that it has been a regular trap for you? Governesses are not supposed to have ears—and yesterday I was giving Violet a music lesson, when she and Mr. Kenneth and Miss Forsyth came in. They went over to the window seat, and there began talking over these tableaux. They did not lower their voices, and she made a bet with Mr. Kenneth that she would make you take part in them. He laughed at her, but she said she was in earnest, and then when he had left the room she propounded her plan to Constance. If you had agreed to play for them,—which she said she was pretty sure she would make you do,—she was going to arrange that just before the curtain fell the screen should be suddenly shifted from in front of you, and you would then be in full view of the audience. You were, in fact, to personify the girl for whom the two rivals were fighting.'

'But,' I said, quite bewildered, 'I should not have been dressed for the occasion. How could she imagine such a plan would succeed?'

'It was all to be arranged. She said your cream silk would be just the thing, and Mr. Forsyth was to tell you to wear it that night for dinner. I assure you Miss Willoughby was quite determined that she should succeed. I am very glad she has failed, for it would be a shabby trick to play any one, and I was very vexed that it should be played on you.'

I was silent. Miss Graham's words were a revelation to me, and I wondered what I had done to cause Miss Willoughby to act so. And I understood her anger at having had her plans so frustrated. How thankful I was that I had not yielded to her entreaties! After a pause, Miss Graham said, 'You must have a wonderful grip of unseen things, Hilda, to live your life here so cheerily and brightly, when you have such constant difficulties and disagreeables arising between you and the girls.'

I looked up at her. 'It is a happy life, Miss Graham, and no circumstances can ever make it otherwise.'

She leant forward in the firelight, and, taking one of my hands in hers, said rather brokenly, with tears glistening in her eyes,—

'I have wanted to tell you—I must to-night; I think it will cheer you to know that I have found what you have. Do you remember those few words you said to me in the wood soon after you first came? I could never forget them. And I was troubled for long afterwards. But I see it all so differently now; salvation is not to be earned, as you said to me, but to be received. And I think when one receives salvation, one receives the Giver with it. I know I have found it so—it does indeed make life different.'