formal manner in which he had hitherto addressed them; but the housekeeper, a sedate, middle-aged woman, with a close linen cap, bound by a broad ribbon round her head, and a buff handkerchief pinned down over her gown, came in at this moment, and the interruption threw him back into his old manner. "These ladies, Mrs. Dawes, are good enough to become my guests for some days; I hope, and I trust to you to make them in all respects comfortable. If you will show them to their rooms, you can then come and see about our supper." Mrs. Dawes curtsied, and requested the ladies to follow her. She led the way up a broad, polished, old-fashioned staircase with heavy, twisted balusters. It might have been the most natural thing in the world for her master to find broken-down carriages and to bring the inmates home, so thoroughly prepared did the good woman appear for the contingency. "You will find all the beds well-aired, ladies, and the fires shall be lighted directly. The evenings are chilly in these old houses at this time of the year; but my mistress, in her lifetime, always made it a rule to keep all the beds ready for use at a moment's warning, and master keeps up her all things." "Is the mistress dead, then?" 66 ways in Yes, ma'am; she died about this time twelve months. Master took it much to heart. Is there anything you would like, or that I can send up for you?" On being thanked, and her offer declined, she left them, to see about supper. On descending to the parlour, they found the candles lighted, the curtains drawn, and the table set for the evening meal. At first, conversation was not brilliant-they had come mutually to the end of the topics. which lay on the surface of their adventures, and they had not broken ground upon any topics of general interest. Sir Charles Grandison, as Constance persisted in calling him, was not much accustomed to general society; and though hospitable in the extreme, he was at a loss to entertain his guests now that he had succeeded in housing them. The "half-hour" before supper was as difficult to manage as ever was the same period "before dinner." At length Mrs. Dawes and a buxom rosy maid-servant came in with the dishes. The supper was served in a primitive, homely fashion, that partook more of the rustic style of a farm-house than of the customs of genteel society. A large cold round of beef, a dish of mashed potatoes, a brace of partridges, a hot apple pie, and some toasted cheese, with brown bread, ale, and cider, was a tolerably substantial repast to set before three ladies. The duty of presiding at the suppertable appeared to restore their host to his self-possession. He told them, in reply to a question, hazarded by Margaret, about his crops, the price of grain, and many other country gentlemanlike topics, and appeared to address his conversation chiefly to her; but it was evident all along that he wished to say something else, which he could not bring in. After supper he relapsed into his embarrassed formality, and they were beginning to long inexpressibly for their beds, when Mr. Harrop, who had sat trying to make up his mind to say something, turned abruptly to Miss Wilmot, and asked her to come and look at a picture which hung at the other end of the room. She complied. "Do “Do you recollect any one like that?" he asked. It was the portrait of a young and very pretty woman, of the decidedly English type: flaxen hair, blue eyes, and wild-rose complexion. She was dressed in the height of a bygone fashion. Miss Wilmot shook her head. "That was Amelia Webster, my wife," said he, in a hurried tone, "taken just before our marriage; but she was prettier than that, by far.” He stopped suddenly, and seemed nervous at having said so much. Miss Wilmot spoke with interest of her, and of what she was as a little girl at the dancing school. Mr. Harrop began an earnest conversation with her. Constance took refuge in some odd volumes of the Town and Country Magazine, which were full of old fashions and defunct scandal. Margaret, from time to time, looked at the prints as Constance |