d you ought,' assented the girls.

'By the bye,' said Samuel, 'my father has heard from Miss. Lord that she
is going away for a month or two. She says her health requires it.'

Jessica sat silent, still with downcast eyes.

'But it's a new thing, isn't it,' remarked Amelia, 'for Miss. Lord to be
in bad health?'

'She has suffered a good deal, I'm afraid,' said Jessica, 'since her
father's death. The doctor tells her she oughtn't to live in that dull
house through the winter.'

'In that case,' Samuel exclaimed, 'of course she must go at once--of
course!'

He never spoke of Nancy but with stress of unctuous generosity. This, if
his hearers knew what he had suffered at her hands, must tell greatly
to his credit; if they were not aware of the circumstances, such a tone
would become him as the young lady's hopeful admirer.

'I fear her nerves are affected,' pursued Jessica. 'She can't
bear society. So unlike her, isn't it? She goes out very little
indeed,--sometimes not for days together. And really she sees nobody.
I'm getting quite anxious about her.'

The subject was an awkward one in this house, and it soon gave place to
freer conversation. On her way home, though mechanically repeating dates
and formulae, Jessica could not resist the tendency of her thoughts,
to dwell on Samuel's features and Samuel's eloquence. This was a new
danger; she had now little more than a fortnight for her final 'cram,'
and any serious distraction meant ruin.

In a day or two she took leave of Nancy, who had chosen for her winter
retreat no less remote a spot than Falmouth. Horace having settled
himself in lodgings, the house was to be shut up; Mary Woodruff of
course went down into Cornwall. Nancy had written a letter to Mr.
Barmby, senior, excusing herself for not being able to see him before
her departure; it was an amiable letter, but contained frank avowal of
pain and discontent at the prospect of her long pupilage. 'Of course I
submit to the burden my father chose to lay upon me, and before long,
I hope, I shall be able to take things in a better spirit. All I ask of
you, dear Mr. Barmby, is to have forbearance with me until I get back
my health and feel more cheerful. You know that I could not be in better
hands whilst Mary is with me. I shall write frequently, and give you
an account of myself. Let me hear sometimes, and show me that you make
allowance for my very trying position.'

Jessica heard the letter discussed by its