he gets most of her news, and all her
battles, out of history."

"Yes: she alighted among us to tell us that such a great, such a
wonderful battle had been fought, at a place called Blenheim, by the
Duke of Marlborough, who really seemed a surprisingly clever man: it was
such a good thought of his to have a swamp at one end of his line, and
to put some of his soldiers behind some bushes, so that the enemy could
not get at them! and he won the battle."

"This book will be the very thing for her," said Margaret. "It is only
a pity that it did not come in at Midsummer instead of Christmas. I am
afraid she will sympathise so thoroughly that Phoebe will never be able
to put on coals enough to warm her."

"Nay," said Mr Hope, "it is better as it is. She must be told now, at
all events: whereas, if this book came to her at Midsummer, it would
chill her whole month of July. She would start every time she looked
out of her window, and saw the meadows green."

"I hope she is not really very ill," said Hester.

"You were thinking the same thought that I was," said her husband,
starting up from the sofa. "It is certainly my business to go and see
her to-night, if she wishes it. I will step down into the surgery, and
learn if there is any message from her."

"And if there is not from her, there will be from some one else," said
Hester, sorrowfully. "What a cold night for you to go out, and leave
this warm room!"

Mr Hope laughed as he observed what an innocent speech that was for a
surgeon's wife. It was plain that her education in that capacity had
not begun. And down he went.

"Here are some things for you, cards and notes," said Margaret to her
sister, as she opened a drawer of the writing-table: "one from Mrs
Grey, marked `Private.' I do not suppose your husband may not see it;
but that is your affair. My duty is to give it you privately."

"One of the Grey mysteries, I suppose," said Hester, colouring, and
tearing open the letter with some vehemence: "These mysteries were
foolish enough before; they are ridiculous now. So, you are going out?"
cried she, as her husband came in with his hat on.

"Yes; the old lady will be the easier for my seeing her this evening;
and I shall carry her the Polar Sea. Where is pen and ink, Margaret?
We do not know the ways of our own house yet."

Margaret brought pen and ink; and while Mr Hope wrote down the dates in
the Book Society's list, Hester exclaimed against Mrs G