lady who was munching away with a hearty appetite, at the head of the table. "Don't look at me, Uncle Bolsover," said the niece, in a loud voice; "I'm not near ready, yet. I'm perfectly ravenous." Tempy, as she predicted, had recovered her temper and her appetite too. Leaning forward to Susy, she said, "What time did you leave home?" "Not very early. We are staying at Carlisle," said Susy, shyly. "I drove over with the cousin, who brought us here." "Well, he should have taken better care of you," said the young lady; "and now mind you keep by us." "Hush, my dear Tempy, don't speak so loud," whispered one of the grand ladies, the grimmest of the two, bending forward emphatically. She was dressed in red and brown and green. She was plain-featured and rather alarming Susy thought. The other lady was plump, fair, affected with a curious little, tiresome, silvery laugh, which went tinkling on perpetually; she had twinkling diamond earrings, a marabout in her bonnet, and a quantity of beautiful old lace round her throat and wrists, and an elaborate manner. As for the girl, she was pink-cheeked and redhaired, fresh and bouncing; she seemed quite used to the world and its ways; she had a loud voice, a military decision and good-natured directness, and gave one an impression somehow of being in uniform. The young man seemed to be receiving a great deal of advice with a great deal of indifference, and with an occasional glance at Miss Tempy, who openly shrugged her broad shoulders. Susy sat wondering at everything in her demure fashion, everybody seemed to her wonderfully kind, from the butler to the invisible hosts; she was fascinated by her new acquaintance, and the fat gentleman's attentions pleased her grandfather too. Some days have a way of lighting up beyond all others with a peculiar happiness of their own, a bright intensity never to be dimmed again so long as life exists; and this day was one of these; many sad days came for Susy after this happy one, that seemed so warm, so long, so full of enjoyment, the present was better than anything she had ever dreamt of—and indeed, to the young, both joy and sorrow, when they come in their turn, seem greater than they could have ever imagined. Susanna Holcombe was eighteen, the sun was shining, the feudal Castle was rearing its grand old walls-the birds were in the air. Everybody else was happy, and why should not Susy take the delight of the hour? She had established a tacit understanding with the friendly fat gentleman. The young one was so kind as to offer her some mustard; Miss Tempy seemed already a friend for life, so communicative had she become over her chicken. A loud shouting in the court outside put an end at last to the luncheon: they all got up, and went to the door at the far end of the great hall; it led on to a little terrace, upon which they all crowded, for the courtyard below was invaded by a chubby pacific mob which must have surprised the knights in armour used to such a different tradition. The company from the hall was met by a tre mendous cheer as it appeared-which the master of the house, who stood laughing at the head of this invading force, signed to Mr. Bolsover to acknowledge; and Mr. Bolsover, quite in his element, immediately made a low bow, and began a speech which was more or less appropriate and inaudible. I am not going to describe at length the programme of the day's festival; for Susy, the story might have been told not in tents and buns, and games in the ring, but from more delightful and less tangible aspects. Dr. John was delighted when he arrived to find his protégés in such good company. Sir Walter Vivian himself was showing Mr. Holcombe the old moated garden; and Susy, arm-in-arm with her new friend, met him with a beaming smile. "Dear me, Susy, has Miss Dymond taken you under her wing?" said Dr. John. "I was unavoidably delayed at the inn by an accident. I am glad to find you have been so well looked after. How do you do, Mrs. Bolsover? How do you do, Miss Bolsover?" The grand ladies acknowledged the little Doctor's salutation with their finger tips, and meanwhile Miss Tempy dragged Susy away and went on cross-questioning her all the way across the lawn; along the terrace, all down the steps. "Don't you think Tempy an odd name? I am sure you never knew anybody else called Tempy. It was poor mamma's name, you know; she was Temperance, and they christened me Tempy. Those are my two aunts, Aunt Car and Aunt Fanny, brought us up that sort of thing; dragged us along by main force, my brother says. Have you got a brother?" 66 "I have two little half-brothers," said Susy, "but I see them very rarely. My mother has married again. I live with my grandfather." "Oh," said the other, we don't like second marriages. I should never allow it, nor my aunts either. Papa always consults me-at least, he generally does," says Tempy; "but 1 have had a great deal to try me lately. I can't tell you about it. Never, never allude to the subject, to me or to anybody else. How old are you?" "I am just nineteen," said Susanna, apologisingly. "I know I look much younger." "And I'm not yet sixteen," said Miss Tempy, with a sudden explosion of laughter, "who would ever imagine you so many years older than me? But you don't know me yet. Miss Martin often says there is a great deal more in one than people have any idea of at first. I suppose you think me plain, don't you?" says Miss Tempy, blinking her blue eyes. "It is a pity, isn't it?-one doesn't do oneself justice, though, of course, looks don't matter." "I don't think you plain at all," said Susy laughing, "looks do matter a little, I suppose; but a great many ugly people have been very happy, and good." "Well, papa likes my looks," said Miss Tempy, only half satisfied, "and of course I care more for his opinion than for anybody else's." As they talked they were walking along a beautiful fern-grown pathway that led towards the gorge, where the waters were tumbling over the stones. To Susy every common-place word was idealised by the rushing of the waters in the gully below, by the stately "vanguard of pines" that ruled the summit of the hill. Some of the children had straggled up into this beautiful wild grove, and were gathering the bluebells that grew among the ferns. The light was turning yellow, and the shadows were beginning to grow long. Before parting, Susy's new friend, in return for so much confidence, had made her describe her home, old Betty the cook, the tranquil rectory by the churchyard, the old yew tree by the church-door. "And what is your mother like?" says Tempy. "My mother," said Susy, and her whole face brightened, "she is very beautiful and very very dear and gentle. She has brown eyes and a lovely face. I'm like my father, people say. Nobody ever could be like mamma again." But here cousin John came running after them, calling out that it was time to go. “Take your grandfather back to the train, or we shall have him climbing the Maypole, or running in a hurdle race. Was not I right Susy thought she had never seen her grandfather look so well and animated. He had charmed the whole party by his gentle, old-fashioned grace; he laughed, his cheeks were flushed, his eyes looked bright. He looked ten-twenty years younger than when he arrived. "It has been a happy day, a very happy day, my dear," he said, as they were both going back together by themselves. The Bolsovers were in another carriage, and Susy and her grandfather were alone. "Sir Walter knew your father, my dear, he had a brother in the same regiment. He was kind enough to ask us to return on some future occasion; if we revisit our good cousin, I certainly hope to see those kind people again." All the way back Mr. Holcombe sat up, talking very brightly. Susy was even surprised at her grandfather's audacity in venturing to laugh when she talked of her new friends. "They amused me, my dear," said the old gentleman, "the ladies were not without pretension, but I am glad you got on with them." They found the Doctor's wife and her little girls looking out for their return. The curtains were drawn, the supper was laid, the little parlour looked home-like and comfortable; a fire was burning in the hearth, and it was reflected in the round glass that hung on the opposite wall. "I thought you might be cold after your journey," said the Doctor's wife, in her usual querulous tone. "What an expedition you have had ; will John be back to-night?" "He won't be long, cousin Ellen," said Susy. "It has all been perfectly delightful, and grandpapa is not a bit tired." As she spoke, her grandfather sank down wearily into a seat. "A long day, my dear Ellen, but a very pleasant one," said grandpapa. He sat with his arms resting on the arms of the chair. He had lost his bright look, and was paler than usual. "Well you must rest to-morrow before your journey," said the Doctor's wife. "I'm sure I can't think why you don't stay longer, cousin Edward." “I'll take a good rest to-morrow," said cousin Edward. "It is very good of you and John not to be weary of such a cranky old fellow as I am; but I want to get home, Ellen." Ellen, who was a good soul at heart, though a grumbling friend, now began ringing the bell and preparing Mr. Holcombe's supper, telling him that he must not think of waiting for her husband. "Don't you marry a Doctor whoever you take, Susy: morning, noon, and night, there is never an hour one can count upon them. Well, who was there, and what was it all like?" While Susy chattered on of castles, drawbridges, knights in armour, the old man drank his hot soup, broke a bit of bread, and tasted a little wine. Then Mr. Holcombe got up, saying he was tired and should go to "Good-night," he said, and he kissed Susy very tenderly. Afterwards she remembered that he raised his hands and put them on her head, as if in benediction. rest. "Your grandfather's tired to-night; but he is a young-looking man for his time of life," said cousin Ellen, as he left the room. "We are a young-looking family, Susy, what age should you give me." The Doctor's wife did not wait for an answer, to Susy's great relief, but wandered on. "Lou and Bessie don't look their age, either," she said. "Poor girls, they are disappointed to think you won't stay a little longer now you are here: why, you have seen nothing yet." And this was true enough; except for that day's expedition, Susy's impressions de voyage had been confined to the smoky Cathedral tower, the statue in the market-place, and the hucksters crying their wares all round about it, to the Doctor's laborious home, where the wheels of life turned, but certainly were not oiled. "I don't take to strangers," said the mother of Lou and Bessie; "but I don't look upon you two as strangers, though you have only been here a week. Do you know your mother stayed with us over a fortnight It was before that foolish marriage of hers. No, my dear, you needn't look so black. We none of us ever liked him, and she was a foolish woman." once. "Mr. Marney makes my mother very happy," said Susy, blushing, and drawing herself up. It was a relief to her that the Doctor came in just then brisk, shivering, in good spirits, hungry, and talkative, and changed the thread of his wife's comments. "Where's your grandfather-gone to bed? Well, children, well, Ellen, here I am. Susie will have told you all about it. a lovely day, and I wish you had come with us.” We have had "You really seem to think, John," said the Doctor's wife, "that I have nothing to do but to drive about in a gig, and praise the weather. I should say it had been a very usual sort of day," then she stopped. Was that your grandfather's bell, Susy? I wonder if he has all he wants;" and Susy jumped up. "What can he want?" said the girl, running out of the room. The Doctor helped himself to a glass of claret. His wife got up and went to make up the fire; and then in another minute they heard the bell ringing and ringing again, and Susy's voice overhead calling passionately Cousin John! cousin John!" 66 Cousin John turned pale, some instinct told him what had happened. Something that all his good-will and long experience could not help, nor Susy's piteous terrified prayers and tender tears. She sat on the bed-side with her sweet face bent to her grandfather's pale lips, holding him up with all her anxious strength; but the dear old man lay at rest, and they could not disturb him any more to life. Very late at night the Doctor's wife came, and put her arms round the girl and led her away. "John is writing to your friends," cousin Ellen said; "would you like anyone to come to you?" "Oh, mamma; I want mamma," said Susy, bursting into tears; and she asked for a pencil and paper, and wrote a few words: "Darling mamma, they are so kind, but please come, please come to your Susy." And the Doctor enclosed the note in his own more formal letter. CHAPTER III. SHALL We follow the letter? A villa once stood on one of those long roads that lead from the Arc de Triomphe, at Paris, to its dependent villages. These long, dull roads are planted with poplars and lime-trees, and seem to become straighter and more dreary with every succeeding revolution. The villa itself was in a garden green and roughly tended, that put out its straggling shoots, and blazed with marigold heads. The four walls were white and green, and sweet with vines within, sun-baked without, and stained with the dust that skirted the highway. The gates opened upon the boulevard they were painted green, faded and blistered by the sun; the white-washed wall was decorated with a half-defaced inscription, in straggling black letters :-"Villa du Parc. Appartements meublés. Parlez au Concierge, S. V. P." The house had been named after its original proprietor, whose widow made a living by letting her two pavilions to persons in want of "salu |