shall rejoiced for his daughter, and Agnes for her father. Hers was
a nature which could attain its full happiness only in serving God and
man. To have shut herself up and occupied herself with her own
amusement would have been misery, not pleasure. The idea of saving
trouble to Lady Louvaine and Edith, of filling in some slight degree the
empty place of that beloved friend whom Selwick Hall called "Cousin
Bess" and Agnes "Aunt Elizabeth"--this opened out to Agnes Marshall a
prospect of unadulterated enjoyment. To her father, whose active days
were nearly over, and who was old rather with work, hardship, and
sorrow, than by the mere passage of time, the lot offered him seemed
equally happy. The quiet rest, the absence of care, the plenitude of
books, the society of chosen friends who were his fellow-pilgrims,
Zionward,--to contemplate such things was almost happiness enough in
itself. And if he smothered a sigh in remembering that his Eleanor
slept in that quiet churchyard whence she could never more be summoned
to rejoice with him, it was followed at once by the happier recollection
that she had seen a gladder sight than this, and that she was satisfied
with it.

It was but natural that the journey home should be of the most enjoyable
character. The very season of the year added to its zest. The five
ladies and two girls travelled in the coach--private carriages were much
more roomy then than now, and held eight if not ten persons with
comfort--Mr Lewthwaite, Aubrey, Hans, and the two maids, were on
horseback. So they set forth from the White Bear.

"Farewell to thee!" said Charity to that stolid-looking animal, as she
rode under it for the last time. "Rachel, what dost thou mean, lass?--
art thou crying to leave yon beast or Mistress Abbott?"

"Nay, nother on 'em, for sure!" said Rachel, wiping her eyes; "I've
nobut getten a fly into my eye."

Mrs Abbott, however, was not behindhand. She came out to her gate to
see the cavalcade depart, followed by a train of youthful Abbotts, two
or three talking at once, as well as herself. What reached the ears of
the ladies in the coach, therefore, was rather a mixture.

"Fare you well, Lady Louvaine, and all you young gentlewomen--and I hope
you'll have a safe journey, and a pleasant; I'm sure--"

"I'll write and tell you the new modes, Mrs Lettice," said Prissy;
"you'll have ne'er a chance to--"

"Be stuck in the mud ere you've gone a mile," came in Seth's voi