o back her up,
and infuse new spirit and vigour.

The surly ploughboy, who omitted to touch his cap to the lady, little
imagined the train of painful reflections roused by this small indication
of the altering spirit of the place!

CHAPTER XVI

Even in our ashes glow the wonted fires.--GRAY

'My dear, I did not like the voice that I heard just now.'

'I am sure I was not out of temper.'

'Indeed?'

'Well, I am sure any one would be vexed.'

'Cannot you tell me what was the matter without being sure so often?'

'I am sure--there, mamma, I beg your pardon--I am sure I did not mean to
complain.'

'Only, Sarah, neither your voice has such a ring, nor are you so sure,
when nothing has gone wrong. What was it?'

'It is that photography, mamma. Miss Sandbrook is so busy with it! I
could not copy in my translation that I did yesterday, because she had
not looked over it, and when she said she was coming presently, I am
afraid I said it was always presently and never present. I believe I did
say it crossly, and I am sorry I denied it,' and poor Sarah's voice was
low and meek enough.

'Coming? Where is she?'

'In the dark chamber, doing a positive of the Cathedral.'

Mrs. Prendergast entered the schoolroom, outside which she had been
holding this colloquy. The powerful sun of high summer was filling the
room with barred light through the Venetian blinds, and revealing a
rather confused mass of the appliances of study, interspersed with
saucers of water in which were bathing paper photographs, and every shelf
of books had a fringe of others on glass set up to dry. On the table lay
a paper of hooks, a three-tailed artificial minnow, and another partly
clothed with silver twist, a fly-book, and a quantity of feathers and
silks.

'I must tell Francis that the schoolroom is no place for his
fishing-tackle!' exclaimed Mrs. Prendergast.

'O, mamma, it is Miss Sandbrook's. She is teaching him to dress flies,
because she says he can't be a real fisherman without, and the trout
always rise at hers. It is quite beautiful to see her throw. That
delicate little hand is so strong and ready.'

A door was opened, and out of the housemaid's closet, defended from light
by a yellow blind at every crevice, came eager exclamations of 'Famous,'
'Capital,' 'The tower comes out to perfection;' and in another moment
Lucilla Sandbrook, in all her bloom and animation, was in the room,
followed by a youth of some e