t was, do not be in the way, and I shall not show myself
unless I am needed, when he would be glad enough of me. I am not bound
to obey the very letter, like Blanche or Mary."

Ethel looked horrified by the assertion of independence, but Richard
called her from below, and, with one more fruitless entreaty, she ran
downstairs.

Richard had been hearing all from his father, and it was comfortable
to talk the matter over with him, and hear explained the anxiety which
frightened her, while she scarcely comprehended it; how Dr. May could
not feel certain whether it was right or expedient to promote an
engagement which must depend on health so uncertain as poor Margaret's,
and how he dreaded the effect on the happiness of both.

Ethel's romance seemed to be turning to melancholy, and she walked on
gravely and thoughtfully, though repeating that there could be no
doubt of Margaret's perfect recovery by the time of the return from the
voyage.

Her lessons were somewhat nervous and flurried, and even the sight of
two very nice neat new scholars, of very different appearance from the
rest, and of much superior attainments, only half interested her. Mary
was enchanted at them as a pair of prodigies, actually able to read! and
had made out their names, and their former abodes, and how they had been
used to go to school, and had just come to live in the cottage deserted
by the lamented Una.

Ethel thought it quite provoking in her brother to accede to Mary's
entreaties that they should go and call on this promising importation.
Even the children's information that they were taught now by "Sister
Cherry" failed to attract her; but Richard looked at his watch, and
decided that it was too soon to go home, and she had to submit to her
fate.

Very different was the aspect of the house from the wild Irish cabin
appearance that it had in the M'Carthy days. It was the remains of
an old farm-house that had seen better days, somewhat larger than the
general run of the Cocksmoor dwellings. Respectable furniture had taken
up its abode against the walls, the kitchen was well arranged, and,
in spite of the wretched flooring and broken windows, had an air of
comfort. A very tidy woman was bustling about, still trying to get rid
of the relics of her former tenants, who might, she much feared, have
left a legacy of typhus fever. The more interesting person was, however,
a young woman of three or four and twenty, pale, and very lame, and with