l this so accurately?"

"Because he told me. Now have you done with objections?"

"Philip, this is a very blind business! You may send me to this place,
and I may do my best, and you may spend your money,--and at the end of
all, she may marry somebody else; or, which is quite on the cards, you
may get another fancy."

"Well," said he, "suppose it. No harm will be done. As I never had any
fancy whatever before, perhaps your second alternative is hardly
likely. The other I must risk, and you must watch against."

Mrs. Barclay shook her head, but the end was, she yielded.

CHAPTER XIX.

NEWS.

November had come. It was early in the month still; yet, as often
happens, the season was thoroughly defined already. Later, perhaps,
some sweet relics or reminders of October would come in, or days of the
soberer charm which October's successor often brings; but just now, a
grey sky and a brown earth and a wind with no tenderness in it banished
all thought of such pleasant times. The day was dark and gloomy. So the
fire which burned bright in the kitchen of Mrs. Armadale's house showed
particularly bright, and its warm reflections were exceedingly welcome
both to the eye and to the mind. It was a wood fire, in an open
chimney, for Mrs. Armadale would sit by no other; and I call the place
the kitchen, for really a large portion of the work of the kitchen was
done there; however, there was a stove in an adjoining room, which
accommodated most of the boilers and kettles in use, while the room
itself was used for all the "mussy" work. Nevertheless, it was only
upon occasion that fire was kindled in that outer room, economy in fuel
forbidding that two fires should be all the while kept going.

In the sitting-room kitchen, then, this November afternoon, the whole
family were assembled. The place was as nice as a pin, and as neat as
if no work were ever done there. All the work of the day, indeed, was
over; and even Miss Charity had come to sit down with the rest,
knitting in hand. They had all changed their dresses and put off their
big aprons, and looked unexceptionably nice and proper; only, it is
needless to say, with no attempt at a fashionable appearance. Their
gowns were calico; collars and cuffs of plain linen; and the white
aprons they all wore were not fine nor ornamented. Only the old lady,
who did no housework any longer, was dressed in a stuff gown, and wore
an apron of black silk. Charity, as I said, was