"Then I came—, that is you forget," said he recovering himself, "I sometimes take my nieces for a walk."
"I forget nothing," replied she, "my memory serves me well."
"Why are you here?" asked he, "surely you can have no excuse for coming."
"It was chance directed my footsteps," replied she carelessly.
This was scarcely true. Ever since Frances had seen Amy talking with her cousin on the evening of his arrival, a strange fascination to speak with the governess had taken possession of her; why she hardly knew or questioned; but now at this moment, as she stood so unexpectedly face to face with Charles and marked his confusion, a jealous hatred crept slowly, yet surely over her heart, a jealousy that was to be the bane of her after life, to influence her every action, almost thought, and lead her to follow blindly all its revengeful promptings, undeterred either by the oft-times whispered voice of conscience, or the evident and consequent sufferings of others.
What woman is not jealous of the one she fears is supplanting her, or obtaining an interest in the heart of him she loves? but here Frances had barely reason for her jealousy, Charles never having given her sufficient cause to think he cared for her, beyond a cousinly regard; yet she loved him as much as her proud heart was capable of loving.
"This drawing is beautifully done," said she, advancing and examining it closely. "What have you done with the copy?"
The copy? What if she had named the "Holy Work?"