h which the week began
changed into a grave, loving, and somewhat timid appreciation of each
new arrival.

Meanwhile, on Faith's table stood a little silver saucepan sent by Mrs.
Somers with the sage remark that she would want it for others if not
for herself; and near by, a beautiful butter cup and knife from Mrs.
Stoutenburgh. With the butter cup trotted down a little mountain pony,
with the daintiest saddle and bridle that the Squire could find for
money.

Miss Linden's love had chosen for itself sundry channels; from the
silver knives--of all sorts--which made their appearance now, to
various comforts, great and small, which were to await her brother and
sister in their new home. In those Mrs. Iredell too had a share; her
present token was a silver tea-service, whereon the chasing developed
itself in sprays of mignonette. A mark of attention which Mr. Linden at
least appreciated.

CHAPTER XLIII.

It was very early indeed in the still sweet morning of Thursday, when
Faith threw open the windows and blinds of the sitting-room. No one was
abroad, and not even a wind moving. The leaves of the trees hung
motionless; except where a bird stirred them; the dawn was growing
slowly into day; sweet odours called forth by the dew, floated up to
the windows, and the twitter and song of the birds floated in. The
freshness and stillness and calmness of all the earth was most sweet.
Faith could not read; she knelt upon a low cushion at the open window
and leaned her arms upon the sill to look out, and breathe, and think
and pray. The morning was not unlike her. She was as fresh, and as
grave, and as still; and there was a little flutter now and then too in
her heart, that went with nothing worse than the song of the birds,
though it stirred something more than the leaves of the branches. So
Mr. Linden found her.

So she met them all at breakfast, with the same unready eyes and lips
that Mr. Linden had seen before. It was odd how Faith seemed to have
put off the full realization of Thursday till Thursday came. After
breakfast she was making her escape, but was detained before she
reached the staircase. What it was that Mr. Linden fastened in her
dress, Faith could not have told; neither did his words tell her.

"You must not think me extravagant, Mignonette,--these are some old
gems of mine which I want you to wear in this form." He gave her one
grave kiss and let her go. Faith sped up stairs; and with a fluttering