"I must go back to the hay-field at once," she said, "I'll leave you now, Susy. Don't be long here. Run downstairs while there's no one about. Good-by, Susy. I'm glad you are not hurt."
Ermengarde nodded to Susan Collins, and with a light heart left the room. She went to the nursery, secured the baby's rusks, and returned to the hay-field.
During the rest of that evening no one seemed happier, or laughed more often than Ermengarde. She thought herself safe, and it never occurred to her as possible that the doings of that day could ever be known.
CHAPTER VI.
A STOLEN TREASURE.
hen Ermengarde left the room, Susy looked round her. She was a thoroughly comfortable young person; her nature had plenty of daring in it, and she was not prone to timidity. She was not much afraid of being caught, and she did not feel at all inclined to hurry out of the governess's room.
Susy was one of those unfortunate little mortals whose pretty face, instead of bringing with it a blessing, as all beauty ought, had quite the reverse effect upon her. It made her discontented. Like many other foolish little maids, she longed to have been born in a higher station than Providence intended; she longed to be rich and a lady.