The time passed monotonously. Always looking upon myself as an intruder, an unwelcome interloper, I could not feel at home at Chandos. A letter arrived in course of post from Emily de Mellissie, saying she had found her husband certainly ill, but not as much so as "la mère" had been willing to lead them to expect. In a few days she should write and fix the date of her return. I was at a loss what to do in more senses than one. Not liking to sit down to the piano uninvited--and no one did invite me--it remained closed. Now and then, when I knew that neither Lady Chandos nor her son was at home, I would play quietly for a few minutes--stealthily might be the best term. Twice Lady Chandos took me for a drive; she went herself every day; generally taking Mrs. Chandos. The latter I very rarely saw at any time.

And so I was reduced to walking and reading. Newspapers, books, and reviews lay about the room. Had I been anything of a dressmaker, I should have made up the dresses bought in Paris, failing the money to give them out; as it was, they lay in my large trunk, unmade. Mr. Chandos had told me the books in the library were at my service, and I chose some of them.

One morning, when I had gone in to get a book, Lady Chandos, passing the door, saw me and came in. I was standing before a book-case in the darkest part of the room; before which the inner curtains had always been drawn. They were undrawn now, but the doors were locked as usual.

"Are you searching for a book, Miss Hereford?"

"Yes, madam. Amidst so many----"

The sight of Lady Chandos\'s face caused my sentence to fail. The evident astonishment with which she gazed on, the book-case; the displeased, nay, the dismayed, expression of her countenance, was something curious. In my timidity, I feared she might think I had undrawn the curtains. There appeared to be books of all kinds, shapes, and sizes, inside; pamphlets and loose papers. Mr. Chandos happened to come out of his room, and she called him.

"Harry," she began, in a sharp, authoritative tone, "who has been at this book-case, and left the curtains undrawn?"

"It must have been Mrs. Chandos," he replied, advancing to his mother\'s side. "The doors are locked, I see; there\'s no great harm done."

"No harm!" repeated Lady Chandos; "look here."

She pointed to a name written on the white paper cover of one of the books. Mr. Chandos knitted his brow as he bent closer.

"Very thoughtless of her; very negligent," murmured Lady Chandos. "I have said before the keys ought not to be entrusted to Ethel."

As I quitted the room quietly, not liking to stay in it, I saw Mr. Chandos take a bunch of keys from his pocket; and, subsequently, heard the silk curtains drawn close, and the doors relocked. Never should I feel free to go to the book-case again. I had one volume of Shakespeare out, and must make the most of it.

We were having lovely days, and this was one of them. I strolled out, the book in my hand. But, before settling to read, I went to the gates to see how they were getting on with the opposite house. They had been busy furnishing it for two or three days, and I--for want of something better to do--had taken an interest in it, and watched the things going in. It appeared all in order this morning; there was no bustle, no litter; curtains were up, blinds were half-drawn, and smoke was ascending from more than one chimney. The tenant or tenants must have arrived and taken possession.

As I stood leaning over the small side-gate, there came out of that house a man; a gentleman, to appearance; short, and with a dark face. But of the latter I caught but a passing glimpse, for he turned his back immediately to look up at the front of the house. Calling to a manservant, he appeared to be pointing out something that he wished done, or finding fault with something that had been left undone. I could not hear the words but I could the tones; they were authoritative, as was his manner. He was evidently the master.

I thought I had seen him before, for there was something in his figure, and even in the passing sight of his face, which struck upon me as being familiar. I waited for him to turn again, that I might obtain a better view; but he did not, and soon went in. I walked back to a shady bench, and began reading. It was underneath the trees that shaded the side of the broad open walk. Presently the sound of two people, apparently encountering each other, reached me from behind the shrubs.

"Are you here alone, Ethel?" was asked by Mr. Chandos.

"Yes, I took a fancy to come; I and my kitten. Mrs. Freeman said wait an hour or two, and perhaps she could come with me. She is ill."

"What ails her?"

"I don\'t know. She often complains now; pains come in her head."

"Did you unlock the book-case in the library and leave the curtains undrawn?"

"What book-case?" returned Mrs. Chandos.

"That book-case."

"What next, Harry! As if I should do anything of the sort!"

"You had the keys last night. And no one opens that book-case but yourself."

"I did open that book-case, I remember, and undraw the curtains; I thought they were dusty, but I\'m sure I thought I drew them again. I\'m very sorry."

"Be more cautious for the future, Ethel. Lady Chandos is vexed. You see, while this young lady is in the house----"

"But I cannot see what business she has in the library," interrupted Mrs. Chandos, in a quick complaining tone. "A stranger has no right to the run of the house. I think you must be all out of your minds to have her here at all."

"In regard to the library, Ethel, I told her----"

They were the last words that reached me. Mrs. Chandos, ever changeable, was walking rapidly to the house again. Presently Mr. Chandos came down the broad walk, saw me, and approached.

"Are you fond of Shakespeare\'s works?" he asked, when he knew what I was reading.

"I have never read them, sir."

"Never read them!" he cried, in surprise. "You cannot mean that, Miss Hereford."