the twins had parted, and
they were at that period of life when such an interval often produces
no slight changes in personal appearance. Endymion, always tall for
his years, had considerably grown; his air, and manner, and dress were
distinguished. But three quarters of a year had produced a still greater
effect upon his sister. He had left her a beautiful girl: her beauty was
not less striking, but it was now the beauty of a woman. Her mien was
radiant but commanding, and her brow, always remarkable, was singularly
impressive.

They stood in animated converse before the fire, Endymion between his
father and his sister and retaining of each a hand, when Mr. Ferrars
nodded to Myra and said, "I think now;" and Myra, not reluctantly, but
not with happy eagerness, left the room.

"She is gone for your poor mother," said Mr. Ferrars; "we are uneasy
about her, my dear boy."

Myra was some time away, and when she returned, she was alone. "She says
she must see him first in her room," said Myra, in a low voice, to her
father; "but that will never do; you or I must go with him."

"You had better go," said Mr. Ferrars.

She took her brother's hand and led him away. "I go with you, to prevent
dreadful scenes," said his sister on the staircase. "Try to behave just
as in old times, and as if you saw no change."

Myra went into the chamber first, to give to her mother, if possible,
the keynote of the interview, and of which she had already furnished the
prelude. "We are all so happy to see Endymion again, dear mamma. Papa is
quite gay."

And then when Endymion, answering his sister's beckon, entered, Mrs.
Ferrars rushed forward with a sort of laugh, and cried out, "Oh! I am so
happy to see you again, my child. I feel quite gay."

He embraced her, but he could not believe it was his mother. A visage at
once haggard and bloated had supplanted that soft and rich countenance
which had captivated so many. A robe concealed her attenuated frame;
but the lustrous eyes were bleared and bloodshot, and the accents of the
voice, which used to be at once melodious and a little drawling, hoarse,
harsh, and hurried.

She never stopped talking; but it was all in one key, and that the
prescribed one--her happiness at his arrival, the universal gaiety it
had produced, and the merry Christmas they were to keep. After a
time she began to recur to the past, and to sigh; but instantly Myra
interfered with "You know, mamma, you are to dine dow