well that the hours of
the morning were as nothing to the backwoodsman, and with spirits greatly
exhilarated by the Christmas invitation, she went to bed, much too sleepy
to make out why her wealth seemed so severe a shock to Humfrey Randolf.

The six o'clock breakfast was well attended, for Miss Charlecote was
there herself, as well as the Canadian, Phoebe, and Mervyn, who was
wonderfully amiable considering the hour in the morning. Phoebe felt in
some slight degree less unfeeling when she found that Lucilla's fading
looks had been no more noticed by Miss Charlecote than by herself; but
Honor thought Owen's illness accounted for all, and only promised that
the doctor should inspect her.

A day of exceeding occupation ensued. Mervyn talked the whole way of
Cecily, his plans and his prospects; and Phoebe had to draw her mind out
of one world and immerse it into another, straining ears and voice all
the time to hear and be heard through the roar of the train. He left her
at the cottage: and then began the work of the day, presiding over
upholsterers, hanging pictures, arranging books, settling cabinets of
collections, disposing of ornaments, snatching meals at odd times, in
odder places, and never daring to rest till long after dark, when, with
fingers freshly purified from dust, limbs stiff with running up and down
stairs, and arms tired with heavy weights, she sat finally down before
the drawing-room fire with her solitary cup of coffee, and a book that
she was far too weary to open.

Had she never been tired before, that her heart should sink in this
unaccountable way? Why could she not be more glad that her sisters were
coming home, and dear Miss Fennimore? What made every one seem so dull
and stupid, and the comings and goings so oppressive, as if everything
would be hateful till Christmas? Why had she belied all her previous
good character for method and punctuality of late, and felt as if
existence only began when--one person was in the room?

Oh! can this be falling in love?

There was a chiffonier with a looking-glass back just opposite to her,
and, raising her eyes, poor Phoebe beheld a young lady with brow, cheeks,
and neck perfectly glowing with crimson!

'You shan't stand there long at any rate,' said she, almost vindictively,
getting up and pushing the table with its deep cover between her and the
answering witness.

'Love! Nonsense! Yet I don't see why I should be ashamed! Yes! He is
my w