itable on my own account, like Lilias. I've a
notion to revive our old greenhouse; I've a longing to see a little of
the world with you, sir, in spring and summer; I've never been
indifferent to silks and muslins, though I think my chief weakness in
dress is the very finest of fine chintz prints, ever so dear a yard,
papa, which an artist might paint, and more of a Duchess's wear than
velvet. All these matters are acceptable to me, papa."

"You are sure that you are my pet and darling."

"Yes, papa; you have spoilt me."

Joanna was gone to her own room; there she laid her head on her arm, and
asked her heart bitterly, "Have I succeeded in deceiving papa? Can he
believe for a moment that any poor precious treasure in the wide world
will make up to me for the want of Harry Jardine; that there is anything
left me but Heaven instead of Harry Jardine? But then there is papa,
dear papa, and I used to be papa's. What will not women do for their
children? I always thought I could attain as much for papa. I was proud
to prove my love to him, and I will drive out Harry's image for papa's
sake, though I should die in the struggle."

Harry did not altogether admire this resolution. He was a good fellow,
an excellent fellow, and he had the true, ineffable devotion to Joanna
Crawfurd; but he was not free from jealousy and irritation, as well as
sorrow and fear, when he was compelled to part from her for a time, and
content himself with swearing fidelity on his own account, and seeing
her occasionally as an ordinary acquaintance, until their relative
positions should be changed, or his truth fail.

The common world rolled on its course; the seasons succeeded each other,
although even they seemed to culminate in dull, monotonous vanity and
vexation of spirit. The frosty wind had swept "that lustre deep from
glen and brae," and the chill watery mosses alone looked green and fresh
when the snow melted. It was the cold under which Joanna Crawfurd
shivered and shrank; at least so she assured every friendly person who
remarked that she was thin, and paler than ever. Mrs. Jardine had looked
her in the face, nay, kept nervously glancing at her when she was
visible at church, on the loch where the curling match was played, or in
the concert-room at the county town.

Of course the girl would get over it; yet Joanna bore a suspicious
likeness to Mrs. Jardine's sister Anne, who did not "get over" such a
cross. Mrs. Jardine remembered well h