n the lumber-room. It was done by
Grace's own hand, a portrait of her brother, and presented to me in
those days. It has lain in that portfolio ever since.

Though I fought for the Hollingfords, and would hear no word against
them, I do confess that I suffered much fear as to how I should manage
to accommodate myself to the life which I might find awaiting me at
Hillsbro' Farm. That idea of the butter-making, for instance, suggested
a new train of reflections. The image of Mrs. Hollingford began to
divest itself gradually of the long velvet cloak and majestic mien which
it had always worn in my mind, and I speculated as to whether I might
not be expected to dine in a kitchen with the farm-servants, and to
assist with the milking of the cows. But I contrived to keep my doubts
to myself, and went on packing my trunks with a grudging conviction that
at least I was doing my duty.

And it is here, just when my packing was half done, that the strange,
beautiful face of Rachel Leonard rises up to take its place in my
history. I was introduced to her by chance; I did not know her story,
nor that she had a story, nor yet that she was connected with any people
whose intimate acquaintance I was likely to make in the future.

We met at a small musical party, where we had opportunities for
conversation. She wore a white Indian muslin, with a bunch of scarlet
flowers in the bosom. We were sitting in a softly lighted corner, and
her figure was in relief against a dark curtain. Her face was oval and
olive, with an exquisite mingling of warmth and purity, depth and
delicacy, in its tone. Her dark hair was swept up to the top of her head
in a crown of braids, as it was then worn. Her eyes were dark grey, and
very sweet, with a mysterious shadow of sadness about them when her face
was in repose; yet, when they smiled they shone more than any eyes I
have ever seen.

"Miss Dacre and Miss Leonard, I must make you acquainted," said our
hostess (the meddling lady whom I have already quoted on the subject of
the Hollingford misdemeanours). "You intend passing the winter at
Hillsbro', Miss Leonard."

"Yes," replied Rachel; "I believe we shall be at the hall about
Christmas."

"Ah! and you have never been there before? I can assure you it is the
most dreary place; you will be glad of a young friend in the
neighbourhood. Miss Dacre's whim is one of our amusements at present.
She is going to Hillsbro' to stay with a lady who is the mother of