mbs upon
her Delft plate. The directions roused her from her revery, and she
comprehended in a moment how decisive her father's orders were intended
to be. Yet in this matter she was so deeply interested that she
instinctively made an appeal against them.

"Mother, my mother, shall I not go once more to see Madam Gordon? So
kind she has been to me! She will say I am ungrateful, that I am rude,
and know not good manners. And I left there the cushion I am making, and
the worsteds. I may go at once, and bring them home? Yes, mother, I may
go at once. A young girl does not like to be thought ungrateful and
rude."

"More than that, Katherine; a young girl should not like to disobey a
good father. You make me feel astonished and sorry. Here is the key of
the best parlour; go now, and wash carefully the fine china-ware. As to
the rose-leaves in the big jars, you must not let a drop of water touch
them."

"My cushion and my worsteds, mother!"

"Well, then, I will send Dinorah for them with a civil message. That
will be right."

So Lysbet turned and left the room. She did not notice the rebellious
look on her daughter's face, the lowering brows, the resentment in the
glance that followed her, the lips firmly set to the mental purpose. "To
see her lover at all risks"--that was the purpose; but how best to
accomplish it, was not clear to her. The ways of the household were so
orderly, so many things brought the family together during the day,
Lysbet and Joanna kept such a loving watch over her, the road between
their own house and the Semples' was so straight and unscreened, and she
was, beside, such a novice in deception,--all these circumstances
flashing at once across her mind made her, for a moment or two, almost
despair.

But she lifted the key given her and went to the parlour. It was a
large, low room, with wainscoted walls, and a big tiled fireplace nearly
filling one end of it. The blinds were closed, but there was enough
light to reveal its quaint and almost foreign character. Great jars with
dragons at the handles stood in the recesses made by large oak cabinets,
black with age, and elaborately carved with a marvellous nicety and
skill. The oval tables were full of curious bits of china, dainty
Oriental wicker work, exquisite shells on lacquered trays, wonderfully
wrought workboxes and fans and amulets. The odours of calamus and myrrh
and camphor from strange continents mingled with the faint perfume of
the dri