ority of his words. The doubts which had preceded
him somehow melted away in his presence, and he came forth, after the
meeting had been dissolved by the shaking of hands, an accepted tenant
of the high seat.

That evening, the family were alone in their new home. The plain
rush-bottomed chairs and sober carpet, in contrast with the dark, solid
mahogany table, and the silver branched candle-stick which stood upon
it, hinted of former wealth and present loss; and something of the same
contrast was reflected in the habits of the inmates. While the father,
seated in a stately arm-chair, read aloud to his wife and children,
Sylvia's eyes rested on a guitar-case in the corner, and her fingers
absently adjusted themselves to the imaginary frets. De Courcy twisted
his neck as if the straight collar of his coat were a bad fit, and
Henry, the youngest boy, nodded drowsily from time to time.

"There, my lads and lasses!" said Henry Donnelly, as he closed the book,
"now we're plain farmers at last,--and the plainer the better, since it
must be. There's only one thing wanting--"

He paused; and Sylvia, looking up with a bright, arch determination,
answered: "It's too late now, father,--they have seen me as one of
the world's people, as I meant they should. When it is once settled as
something not to be helped, it will give us no trouble."

"Faith, Sylvia!" exclaimed De Courcy, "I almost wish I had kept you
company."

"Don't be impatient, my boy," said the mother, gently. "Think of the
vexations we have had, and what a rest this life will be!"

"Think, also," the father added, "that I have the heaviest work to do,
and that thou'lt reap the most of what may come of it. Don't carry the
old life to a land where it's out of place. We must be what we seem to
be, every one of us!"

"So we will!" said Sylvia, rising from her seat,--"I, as well as the
rest. It was what I said in the beginning, you--no, THEE knows, father.
Somebody must be interpreter when the time comes; somebody must remember
while the rest of you are forgetting. Oh, I shall be talked about, and
set upon, and called hard names; it won't be so easy. Stay where you
are, De Courcy; that coat will fit sooner than you think."

Her brother lifted his shoulders and made a grimace. "I've an
unlucky name, it seems," said he. "The old fellow--I mean Friend
Simon--pronounced it outlandish. Couldn't I change it to Ezra or
Adonijah?"

"Boy, boy--"

"Don't be alarmed, fathe