s. Berry?" he asked.

"Oh! we mustn't go for disturbing her," said the guileful good creature.
"Bless ye! let her sleep it out. And if you young gentlemen was to
take my advice, and go and take a walk for to get a appetite--everybody
should eat! it's their sacred duty, no matter what their feelings
be! and I say it who'm no chicken!--I'll frickashee this--which is a
chicken--against your return. I'm a cook, I can assure ye!"

The lover seized her two hands. "You're the best old soul in the world!"
he cried. Mrs. Berry appeared willing to kiss him. "We won't disturb
her. Let her sleep. Keep her in bed, Mrs. Berry. Will you? And we'll
call to inquire after her this evening, and come and see her to-morrow.
I'm sure you'll be kind to her. There! there!" Mrs. Berry was preparing
to whimper. "I trust her to you, you see. Good-bye, you dear old soul."

He smuggled a handful of gold into her keeping, and went to dine with
his uncles, happy and hungry.

Before they reached the hotel, they had agreed to draw Mrs. Berry into
their confidence, telling her (with embellishments) all save their
names, so that they might enjoy the counsel and assistance of that trump
of a woman, and yet have nothing to fear from her. Lucy was to receive
the name of Letitia, Ripton's youngest and best-looking sister. The
heartless fellow proposed it in cruel mockery of an old weakness of
hers.

"Letitia!" mused Richard. "I like the name. Both begin with L. There's
something soft--womanlike--in the L.'s."

Material Ripton remarked that they looked like pounds on paper. The
lover roamed through his golden groves. "Lucy Feverel! that sounds
better! I wonder where Ralph is. I should like to help him. He's in love
with my cousin Clare. He'll never do anything till he marries. No man
can. I'm going to do a hundred things when it's over. We shall travel
first. I want to see the Alps. One doesn't know what the earth is till
one has seen the Alps. What a delight it will be to her! I fancy I see
her eyes gazing up at them.

'And oh, your dear blue eyes, that heavenward glance
With kindred beauty, banished humbleness,
Past weeping for mortality's distress--
Yet from your soul a tear hangs there in trance.
And fills, but does not fall;
Softly I hear it call
At heaven's gate, till Sister Seraphs press
To look on you their old love from the skies:
Those are the eyes of Seraphs bright on your blue eyes!

"Beautiful! These li