dine that, she would form an early subject of discussion between the pair.
Unluckily, the overbearing conduct of La Pareuse, at this time begat dissensions in the lower house. This woman had conceived a violent aversion to Geraldine's maid—and so malignant and threatening was her demeanour, that the young lady deemed it best to allow the girl to seek another situation.
In departing, the latter, who was much attached to Geraldine, wept bitterly. Miss Fonnereau consoled her.
"'Tain't for myself, miss," sobbed Alice. "Don't ye comfort me—but do—oh, do as I'm a-doing.—Go!"
Geraldine long remembered the strange, wistful look the girl bent upon her, as she hurried from the room and house.
A well-timed incident now occurred. Geraldine received a pressing invitation from the kind Superior of the convent in which she had passed so many happy days, to revisit that tranquil spot.
Reluctant, indeed, to leave her father—yet growing, hourly, less content at home—Geraldine overbore the faint opposition that was made to her acceptance of the proposal—and quickly found herself once again among the loving sisterhood.
Weeks soon grew to months, and there was no talk of Geraldine's return (indeed, at this time no pretext was required, as the young lady, suffering from a severe sprain, was unable to quit the sofa), when a letter, containing another for Geraldine, reached the Superior. It was from Mrs. Fonnereau, and entreated that the sad tidings she had to communicate might be carefully broken to her dear child.
Colonel Fonnereau had died suddenly.
Nothing could be more tender and considerate than the language of this letter. Mrs. Fonnereau was evidently heart-stricken by her sudden bereavement, and found consolation only—next Heaven—in the hope of shortly mingling her tears with those of her beloved child.
"You have an earthly mother yet, my love," remarked the kind Superior, through her tears, as she folded up the letter.
Disabled from looking once more upon the benign face, thus suddenly turned away, Geraldine preferred the consolations she had already found, and without proposing to return home, waited patiently for whatever fate Heaven should send her.
It now transpired that the colonel's affairs were in a more prosperous condition than he had supposed. Certain shares, which Fonnereau, an indifferent man of business, had laid aside as comparatively worthless, turned out to be of considerable market value. More unexpected still, the defaulting agent, who had carried with him a part of the purchase-money of the West India estate, in a form not easy to negotiate, soothed his conscience to a certain extent, by restoring the same.
These incidents, unluckily, only followed the colonel's death. Unaware that his available assets quadrupled the loan he had accepted from Melusina, the honest gentleman by his will bequeathed every shilling that remained to him, in reduction of that debt. Lastly—"confiding absolutely," said the will, "in the oft-repeated promise of my dear wife that she will ever regard and treat my beloved daughter as if the latter were her own child—I commit our Geraldine to her sole control and guardianship, until she shall come of age or be married."
The Lady of the Sea had won indeed!
The discovery of her position was a thunderstroke to Geraldine, and cost her bitter tears. The loss of her inheritance she might have borne, since it seemed, in a measure, due to accident; but that her father, so loving and considerate, should have delivered up his darling, bound hand and foot, to the woman whom, alone of all living, she hated, and whose objects she had openly, though vainly, opposed, this proved the existence of some sinister power which might still be exerted to her harm.
There was no help—but there was hope. Melusina's nature might have benefited by later associations. Her language was open and affectionate. Geraldine felt that she might be doing her injustice. Nevertheless, she clung instinctively to her present happy refuge, and would have been content to remain for ever. At last, however, the summons came.
Mrs. Fonnereau wrote that she had disposed of Mon Désir, and engaged a residence better suited to their feelings and circumstances. It was a large old mansion known as "Leafy Dell," situated in a very quiet neighbourhood, where she and her child might, with little interruption, enjoy the sad but sweet remembrance of happy days gone by. Geraldine must (she added with sweet authority) give her first proof of duty by joining her there immediately.
This was accompanied by a letter to the Superior, to the same effect; with the addition that the writer, in accordance with a promise given to her husband, in his last hours, intended to withdraw, for the present, from the world, and devote herself, wholly
