n echo,
and the two understood each other strangely well. They seemed like old
friends, Maggie, who was reserved at home because no one cared to hear what
she had to say, opened out, and told Erminia and Mrs. Buxton all about her
way of spending her day, and described her home.

"How odd!" said Erminia. "I have ridden that way on Abdel-Kadr, and never
seen your house."

"It is like the place the Sleeping Beauty lived in; people sometimes seem
to go round it and round it, and never find it. But unless you follow a
little sheep-track, which seems to end at a gray piece of rock, you may
come within a stone's throw of the chimneys and never see them. I think you
would think it so pretty. Do you ever come that way, ma'am?"

"No, love," answered Mrs. Buxton.

"But will you some time?"

"I am afraid I shall never be able to go out again," said Mrs. Buxton, in
a voice which, though low, was very cheerful. Maggie thought how sad a lot
was here before her; and by-and-by she took a little stool, and sat by Mrs.
Buxton's sofa, and stole her hand into hers.

Mrs. Browne was in full tide of pride and happiness down stairs. Mr. Buxton
had a number of jokes; which would have become dull from repetition (for he
worked a merry idea threadbare before he would let if go), had if not been
for his jovial blandness and good-nature. He liked to make people happy,
and, as far as bodily wants went, he had a quick perception of what was
required. He sat like a king (for, excepting the rector, there was not
another gentleman of his standing at Combehurst), among six or seven
ladies, who laughed merrily at all his sayings, and evidently thought Mrs.
Browne had been highly honored in having been asked to dinner as well as
to tea. In the evening, the carriage was ordered to take her as far as a
carriage could go; and there was a little mysterious handshaking between
her host and herself on taking leave, which made her very curious for the
lights of home by which to examine a bit of rustling paper that had been
put in her hand with some stammered-out words about Edward.

When every one had gone, there was a little gathering in Mrs. Buxton's
dressing-room. Husband, son and niece, all came to give her their opinions
on the day and the visitors.

"Good Mrs. Browne is a little tiresome," said Mr. Buxton, yawning. "Living
in that moorland hole, I suppose. However, I think she has enjoyed her day;
and we'll ask her down now and then, for Browne's sa