tent,
Again she stretched, again she bent,
Nor knew the gulf between.'--GRAY.

It all seemed like a dream to Ursula, perhaps likewise to her mother,
when they rose to the routine of daily life with the ordinary interests
of the day before them. There was a latent unwillingness in Mrs.
Egremont's mind to discuss the subject with either aunt or daughter;
and when the post brought no letter, Ursula, after a moment's sense of
flatness, was relieved, and returned to her eager desire to hurry after
the water-soldier. It was feasible that very afternoon. Mary Nugent
came in with the intelligence.

'And can Gerard come? or we shall only look at it.'

'Yes, Gerard can come, and so will Mr. Dutton,' said Mary, who,
standing about half-way between Mrs. Egremont and her daughter, did not
think herself quite a sufficient chaperon.

'He will look on like a hen at her ducklings,' said Nuttie. 'It is
cruel to take him, poor man!'

'Meantime, Nuttie, do you like an hour of "Marie Stuart?"'

'Oh, thank you!' But she whispered, 'Aunt Ursel, may I tell her?'

'Ask your mother, my dear.'

Leave was given, half reluctantly, and with a prohibition against
mentioning the subject to any one else, but both mother and aunt had
confidence in Mary Nugent's wisdom and discretion, so the two friends
sat on the wall together, and Ursula poured out her heart. Poor little
girl! she was greatly discomfited at the vanishing of her noble vision
of the heroic self-devoted father, and ready on the other hand to
believe him a villain, like Bertram Risingham, or 'the Pirate,' being
possessed by this idea on account of his West Indian voyages. At any
rate, she was determined not to be accepted or acknowledged without her
mother, and was already rehearsing magnanimous letters of refusal.

Miss Mary listened and wondered, feeling sometimes as if this were as
much a romance as the little yacht going down with the burning ship;
and then came back the recollection that there was a real fact that
Nuttie had a father, and that it was entirely uncertain what part he
might take, or what the girl might be called on to do. Considering
anxiously these bearings of the question, she scarcely heard what she
was required to assent to, in one of Nuttie's eager, 'Don't you think
so?'

'My dear Nuttie,' she said, rousing herself, 'what I do think is that
it will all probably turn out exactly contrariwise to our imaginations,
so I believe it would be wis