l into the moulds dear to the sentimentalist. Victoria
demurred to the adjective "beautiful"; suggesting "pretty--when we have
fed her!" But Mrs. Penfold, with soft, shining eyes, already beheld the
mother and child weeping at the knees of the Ogre, the softening of the
Ogre's heart, the opening of the grim Tower to its rightful heiress, the
happy ending, the marriage gown in the distance.

"For suppose!"--she turned gayly to her daughters for sympathy--"suppose
she were to marry Mr. Faversham! And then Mr. Melrose can have a stroke,
and everything will come right!"

Lydia and Susy smiled dutifully. Victoria sat silent. Her silence checked
Mrs. Penfold's flow, and brought her back, bewildered to realities; to
the sad remembrance of Lydia's astonishing and inscrutable behaviour.
Whereupon her manner and conversation became so dishevelled, in her
effort to propitiate Lady Tatham without betraying either herself or
Lydia, that the situation grew quickly unbearable.

"May I see your garden?" said Victoria abruptly to Lydia. Lydia rose with
alacrity, opened the glass door into the garden, and by a motion of the
lips only visible to Susy appealed to her to keep their mother indoors.

A misty October sun reigned over the garden. The river ran sparkling
through the valley, and on the farther side the slopes and jutting crags
of the Helvellyn range showed ghostly through the sunlit haze.'

A few absent-minded praises were given to the phloxes and the begonias.
Then Victoria said, turning a penetrating eye on Lydia:

"You heard from Harry of the Melroses' arrival?"

"Yes--this morning."

Bright colour rushed into Lydia's cheeks. Tatham's letter of that
morning, the longest perhaps ever written by a man who detested
letter-writing, had touched her profoundly, caused her an agonized
searching of conscience. Did Lady Tatham blame and detest her? Her
manner was certainly cool. The girl's heart swelled as she walked along
beside her guest.

"Everything depends on Mr. Faversham," said Victoria. "You are a friend
of his?" She took the garden chair that Lydia offered her.

"Yes; we have all come to know him pretty well."

Lydia's face, as she sat on the grass at Lady Tatham's feet, looking
toward the fells, was scarcely visible to her companion. Victoria could
only admire the beauty of the girl's hair, as the wind played with it,
and the grace of her young form.

"I am afraid he is disappointing all his friends," she said gr