elf, and had known many ups
and downs, generally in the same line of life.

Active, civil, and much-enduring, she was an admirable hostess, but her
husband was rather idle and speculative, and had invested the savings
of many years in the erection of a large hotel in a place where, in the
opinion of the Bench of Magistrates, it was not wanted, and the licence
was refused, so they had come down in the world in consequence, and had
taken this small inn, where they could just make ends meet. Mrs.
Frankland missed the old customers who used to call, and felt this
visit from Mr. Dempster something like a revival of old days, and asked
him as to the changes he saw in Adelaide; and as Mr. and Mrs. Peck were
Melbourne people, who did not know anything about the old colonists,
Mr. Dempster spoke to her with freedom.

"You have been visiting your married daughter, I suppose," said Mrs.
Frankland.

"Yes, that is the first thing I had to do on my return."

"A fine family she is getting about her, I hear; but I have not seen
her for awhile. This house is not good enough for her to stay a night
in."

"Yes, she has a very fine family--another little fellow since I left
Adelaide."

"You must feel it lonesome now," said the hostess.

"Yes: it is the way of the world, and one should not murmur at it; but
yet a man must feel it very much when his only daughter, and one so
much his companion as my girl was, chooses a home for herself, and
surrounds herself with new ties and new cares."

"You should see and get some one to take care of you," said Mrs.
Frankland, cheerily;--"a pleasant, kindly body--not too young. You must
have met many such in England, who would have been glad of the chance."

"Yes, and who would have grumbled at the colony whenever she came out,
and given me no peace till I took her home again. Now my business and
my interests are all in South Australia. Besides, I like the young
women best, and they would never look at an old fogie like me; so I
must content myself with my memories of the past and my hopes for a
future life. My home is not so lonely as you fancy it, Mrs. Frankland.
Even here I feel the departed ones are near me. The veil that separates
this world from the next is a very thin one; and if our intercourse
with each other is less complete than in the days when we were together
in the flesh, it is none the less real. I have become a spiritualist
since I went to England."

"A what?" asked the hoste