girl had been looking pale lately, and who was pleased with the prospect of giving her so innocent a pleasure, consented, and quite after the manner of old times, the concert over, they went off together and purchased a violin, which Helen insisted on carrying home herself.

The afternoon had been so delightful, and had sped so quickly, that they had both forgotten the time, and that Mrs. Desmond was to return home at six o'clock. It was nearly seven when their cab brought them to their own door.

"Yes, Mrs. Desmond had returned an hour ago and was in the drawing-room," the servant said in answer to the colonel's rather nervous questioning. A cloud fell upon Helen as she entered the warm, well-lighted hall; but she clasped her violin tightly and followed her father upstairs.

Mrs. Desmond rose from a low chair as her husband entered the drawing-room. She was dressed in a pretty tea-gown, that well became her tall, slight figure. Soft lace was arranged on her head, and the shaded red light played on her diamond rings. She looked the very embodiment of delicately-nurtured, serene, English womanhood, and so the colonel thought as his eyes fell upon her. "What has kept you? I have been anxious about you," she said, addressing him in a gently-reproachful voice. "You must be cold and tired. Come and sit by the fire, and I will ring for tea."

"My dear," returned her husband, coming forward and kissing her, "how glad I am to see you back! The house seems like home again. As for tea, the truth is, Helen and I—well, we have been having a little fun on our own account. Come here, Helen, and tell your mother what we have been doing. We sent Miss Walker about her business, didn't we? And then—."

The colonel paused, and Mrs. Desmond then perceived Helen standing half-timidly, half-defiantly near the door.

"You there, Helen!" she said coldly. "How often am I to tell you that I will not have you come into the drawing-room with your walking clothes on! Go and take them off at once. When I was a child—."

"It is really my fault this time, wife," put in the colonel, who dreaded a scene with Helen, and who had, besides, begun to grow a little weary of his wife's reminiscences of her childhood.

"Nonsense!" returned Mrs. Desmond with quite unusual asperity. "Helen knows my rules. She is quite old enough to understand that her duty is to conform to them, and stay!"—as Helen was turning away abruptly—"don't go while I am speaking. Have you learned your lessons for to-morrow?"

"No."

"Then ask Martha to put a lamp in the school-room, and set to work at once. We shall not expect to see you this evening."

"I won't set to work at once—I won't, I won't, I won't," muttered Helen under her breath. Her passion was rising; but for her father's sake, her father who had been so good to her, and who she dimly understood was responsible for her lapse from duty that afternoon, she strove to control herself. Knowing that her only chance was in escape, she made a dash at the door; but in so doing the top of her violin came into contact with a small china-laden table, and a valuable Dresden figure fell to the ground with a crash.

Mrs. Desmond, fairly roused from her wonted calm, rushed forward, uttering a low cry. Her china was very dear to her. She suffered no one but herself to touch it, and it was her boast that each piece had in her keeping remained as intact as it had been in her grandmother's time.

"Oh, Helen!" she cried, "what have you done? My poor little shepherd is broken. You might as well have broken the shepherdess too. The pair is spoilt—utterly spoilt!"

"Perhaps it can be mended," suggested the kind-hearted colonel, coming forward. He was really touched by his wife's distress, and also not a little uneasy about Helen's share in the disaster.

"Mended!" repeated Mrs. Desmond with rising irritation. "Do you suppose that I would have a piece of mended china in my drawing-room? No, the mischief is irreparable—irreparable."

As she spoke she gathered up the broken fragments tenderly, while a tear fell upon her white hand.

"Not irreparable, surely, my dear," persisted the colonel with characteristic want of tact. "I have seen plenty of figures like these in old china shops. To-morrow, first thing, Helen shall make amends for her carelessness by—"

"Ah, Helen!" interrupted Mrs. Desmond, who had regarded the first part of the colonel's sentence as a confession of ignorance too gross for argument, but who was recalled by the mention of Helen's name to the enormity of the girl's offence. "Helen—"

There was a moment's pause. Mrs. Desmond was half-astonished at the bitterness of her own feelings, and felt the necessity of controlling herself. She looked up and saw Helen watching her from the open doorway with an expression of scarcely veiled triumph. It was the last straw. If the girl's face had expressed even fear or shrinking, Mrs. Desmond's better nature would have been touched; but there was something of insolence in her stepdaughter's defiant attitude that exasperated the usually self-controlled woman.

"Helen," she said, and her voice was hard, "you have been exceedingly clumsy: a clumsy woman is intolerable. I object to harsh measures, but something must be done to make you more careful in future. For the present, go to your own room and remain—. What is that you are carrying?" she cried with a sudden change of voice, catching sight of the violin which Helen held behind her.

The faintest expression of anxiety flitted over Helen's face, but she made no answer.

"Show it to me at once. How dare you bring parcels into the drawing-room?"

"I am going to take it away now," returned the girl insolently without moving, for an evil spirit seemed to possess her, and she was absolutely gloating over her stepmother's evident discomfiture.

"I insist upon seeing it," went on Mrs. Desmond; while the colonel, murmuring "Helen" in a tone of remonstrance, walked over to the fireplace.

"You can see it, and hear it too!" cried Helen desperately, her passion blazing out at her stepmother's authoritative tone; and as she spoke she placed the violin on her shoulder, and with the bow drew a long discordant wail from its strings.

Mrs. Desmond started forward, but recovering herself by a violent effort she stopped and put her hands to her ears. Helen dropped her right hand by her side, with the other still holding the violin in position, and regarded her stepmother with a flushed, triumphant face.

"Go to your room," said the latter at last in accents of such bitterness that even her husband felt uncomfortable. "Go to your room and to bed. To-morrow I will see you. I do not wish to inflict any punishment upon you in anger."

"Punishment indeed!" cried Helen, whose blood was up. "I have done nothing to deserve punishment. My father gave me this violin. You cannot take it from me. It is mine."

"It shall be taken from you. John," turning to her husband, "I appeal to you. After Helen's disgraceful behaviour you cannot wish her to keep the present which in your mistaken kindness you appear to have given her."

The colonel sighed, but came forward nervously.

"Helen," he said, "pray do not oppose your mother. You know that she only desires your good. And really—"

He stopped short, for Helen was regarding him with a curious expression, and her breath was coming thick and fast.

"Do you want me to give her my violin?" she asked.

"Only for a little time, Helen, to show that you are sorry, and that you will be more obedient in future."

For a full minute Helen stood clutching her violin and regarding her father with that same curious expression; then she let the instrument drop slowly from her shoulder, and seizing it with her right hand, flung it from her with a furious gesture. It fell at Mrs. Desmond's feet.