The ordinary aspect of the schoolroom was seen no more.

Installed in a position of temporary authority, the parlour-maid sat silently at her needlework. Maria stood by the window, in the new character of an idle girl — with her handkerchief in her hand, and her everlasting book dropped unnoticed on the floor. Zo lay flat on her back, on the hearth-rug, hugging the dog in her arms. At intervals, she rolled herself over slowly from side to side, and stared at the ceiling with wondering eyes. Miss Minerva’s departure had struck the parlour-maid dumb, and had demoralized the pupils.

Maria broke the silence at last. “I wonder where Carmina is?” she said.

“In her room, most likely,” the parlour-maid suggested.

“Had I better go and see after her?”

The cautious parlour-maid declined to offer advice. Maria’s well-balanced mind was so completely unhinged, that she looked with languid curiosity at her sister. Zo still stared at the ceiling, and still rolled slowly from one side to the other. The dog on her breast, lulled by the regular motion, slept profoundly — not even troubled by a dream of fleas!

While Maria was still considering what it might be best to do, Carmina entered the room. She looked, as the servant afterwards described it, “like a person who had lost her way.” Maria exhibited the feeling of the schoolroom, by raising her handkerchief in solemn silence to her eyes. Without taking notice of this demonstration, Carmina approached the parlour-maid, and said, “Did you see Miss Minerva before she went away?”

“I took her message, Miss.”

“What message?”

“The message, saying she wished to see my mistress for a few minutes.”

“Well?”

“Well, Miss, I was told to show the governess into the library. She went down with her bonnet on, ready dressed to go out. Before she had been five minutes with my mistress she came out again, and rang the hall-bell, and spoke to Joseph. ‘My boxes are packed and directed,’ she says; ‘I will send for them in an hour’s time. Good day, Joseph.’ And she stepped into the street, as quietly as if she was going out shopping round the corner.”

“Have the boxes been sent for?”

“Yes, Miss.”

Carmina lifted her head, and spoke in steadier tones.

“Where have they been taken to?”

“To the flower-shop at the back — to be kept till called for.”

“No other address?”

“None.”

The last faint hope of tracing Frances was at an end. Carmina turned wearily to leave the room. Zo called to her from the hearth-rug. Always kind to the child, she retraced her steps. “What is it?” she asked.

Zo got on her legs before she spoke, like a member of parliament. “I’ve been thinking about that governess,” she announced. “Didn’t I once tell you I was going to run away? And wasn’t it because of Her? Hush! Here’s the part of it I can’t make out — She’s run away from Me. I don’t bear malice; I’m only glad in myself. No more dirty nails. No more bread and water for tea. That’s all. Good morning.” Zo laid herself down again on the rug; and the dog laid himself down again on Zo.

Carmina returned to her room — to reflect on what she had heard from the parlour-maid.

It was now plain that Mrs. Gallilee had not been allowed the opportunity of dismissing her governess at a moment’s notice: Miss Minerva’s sudden departure was unquestionably due to Miss Minerva herself.

Thus far, Carmina was able to think clearly — and no farther. The confused sense of helpless distress which she had felt, after reading the few farewell words that Frances had addressed to her, still oppressed her mind. There were moments when she vaguely understood, and bitterly lamented, the motives whi............