se portraits of Grandfather and Grandmother Darracott. Grandmother
Darracott left them to your branch, I am well aware of that; but justice
is justice, and I do think we ought to have one of them. We have just as
much Darracott blood in our veins as you have, and you and Phoebe were
always Blyth all over, while the Darracott nose and chin show so
strongly in me and my children. You have no children, Vesta, and I
always think it is the future generations that should be considered. We
are passing away, my dear,--in the midst of life, you know, and poor
Phoebe's death reminds us of it, I'm sure, more than ever--you don't
look as if you had more than a year or two before you yourself,
Vesta,--but--well--and so--I confess it seems to me as if you might feel
more at ease in your mind if we had one of the portraits. Of course I
should be willing to pay something, though I always think it a pity for
money to pass between blood relations. What do you say?"

She paused, somewhat out of breath, and sat creaking and clinking, and
fanning herself with a Chinese hand-screen.

Miss Vesta looked up at the portraits. Grandmother Darracott in turban
and shawl, Grandfather Darracott splendid with frill and gold seals,
looked down on her benignantly, as they had always looked. They had been
part of her life, these kindly, silent figures. She had always felt
sure of Grandmother Darracott's sympathy and understanding. Sometimes
when, as a child, she fancied herself naughty (but she never was!), she
would appeal from the keen, inquiring gaze of Grandfather Darracott to
those soft brown eyes, so like her own, if she had only known it; and
the brown eyes never failed to comfort and reassure her.

Part with one of those pictures? A month ago the request would have
brought her distress and searchings of heart, with wonder whether it
might not be her duty to do so just because it was painful; but Miss
Vesta was changed. It was as if Miss Phoebe, in passing, had let the
shadow of her mantle fall on her younger sister.

"I cannot consider the question, Maria!" she said, quietly. "My dear
sister would have been quite unwilling to do so, I am sure. And now, as
I have duties to attend to, shall I show you your room?"

Miss Vesta drifted up the wide staircase, and Mrs. Pryor stumped and
creaked behind her.

"You have put me in Phoebe's room, I suppose," said the visitor, as
they reached the landing. "So near you, I can give you any attention you
m