gh she could hardly be called
handsome, there was about her an air of elegance and refinement which
partially compensated for the absence of beauty. That she was proud
one could see from the glance of her large black eyes and the curl of
her lip. Coolly surveying me for a moment, as she would any other
curious specimen, she resumed her book, never speaking to me again,
except to ask, when she saw me gazing wonderingly around the
splendidly-furnished room, "if I supposed I could remember every
article of furniture, and give a faithful report."

I thought I was insulted when she called me "little friend," and now,
feeling sure of it, I tartly replied that "if I couldn't she perhaps
might lend me paper and pencil, with which to write them down."

"Orginally, truly," said she, again poring over her book.

Nellie, who had left me for a moment, now returned, bidding me come
and see her mother, and passing through the long hall, I was soon in
Mrs. Gilbert's room, which was as tastefully, though perhaps not quite
so richly, furnished as the parlor. Mrs. Gilbert was lying upon a
sofa, and the moment I looked upon her the love which I had so freely
given the daughter was shared with the mother, in whose pale sweet
face, and soft brown eyes, I saw a strong resemblance to Nellie. She
was attired in a rose-colored morning-gown, which flowed open in
front, disclosing to view a larger quantity of rich French embroidery
than I had ever before seen.

Many times during the day, and many times since, have I wondered what
made her marry, and if she really loved the bearish-looking man who
occasionally stalked into the room, smoking cigars and talking very
loudly, when he knew how her head was throbbing with pain.

I had eaten but little breakfast that morning, and verily I thought I
should famish before their dinner hour arrived; and when at last it
came, and I saw the table glittering with silver, I felt many
misgivings as to my ability to acquit myself creditably. But by dint
of watching Nellie, doing just what she did, and refusing just what
she refused, I managed to get through with it tolerably well. For
once, too, in my life I drank all the wine I wanted; the result of
which was that long before sunset I went home, crying and vomiting
with the sick headache, which Sally said "served me right;" at the
same time hinting her belief that I was slightly intoxicated!

CHAPTER III.

THE HAUNTED HOUSE.

Down our long, green