s mother, and in consequence, he was the
bearer of a most civil and ceremonious message from Mrs. Buxton to Mrs.
Browne, to the effect that the former would be much obliged to the latter
if she would allow Maggie to ride down occasionally with the groom, who
would bring the newspapers on the Wednesdays (now Frank was going to
school), and to spend the afternoon with Erminia. Mrs. Browne consented,
proud of the honor, and yet a little annoyed that no mention was made of
herself. When Frank had bid good-bye, and fairly disappeared, she turned to
Maggie.

"You must not set yourself up if you go among these fine folks. It is their
way of showing attention to your father and myself. And you must mind and
work doubly hard on Thursdays to make up for playing on Wednesdays."

Maggie was in a flush of sudden color, and a happy palpitation of her
fluttering little heart. She could hardly feel any sorrow that the kind
Frank was going away, so brimful was she of the thoughts of seeing his
mother; who had grown strangely associated in her dreams, both sleeping
and waking, with the still calm marble effigies that lay for ever clasping
their hands in prayer on the altar-tombs in Combehurst church. All the
week was one happy season of anticipation. She was afraid her mother was
secretly irritated at her natural rejoicing; and so she did not speak to
her about it, but she kept awake till Nancy came to bed, and poured into
her sympathizing ears every detail, real or imaginary, of her past or
future intercourse with Mrs. Buxton, and the old servant listened with
interest, and fell into the custom of picturing the future with the ease
and simplicity of a child.

"Suppose, Nancy! only suppose, you know, that she did die. I don't mean
really die, but go into a trance like death; she looked as if she was in
one when I first saw her; I would not leave her, but I would sit by her,
and watch her, and watch her."

"Her lips would be always fresh and red," interrupted Nancy.

"Yes, I know you've told me before how they keep red--I should look at them
quite steadily; I would try never to go to sleep."

"The great thing would be to have air-holes left in the coffin." But Nancy
felt the little girl creep close to her at the grim suggestion, and, with
the tact of love, she changed the subject.

"Or supposing we could hear of a doctor who could charm away illness. There
were such in my young days; but I don't think people are so knowledgeable
no