Bluebell struck a path across some fields leading to
the river, and amused herself throwing sticks for Archie to fetch off
its half-frozen surface--a diversion which soon palled on the Skye,
who was not fond of water; so Bluebell wandered on, soliloquizing,
as usual. Suppose this uncle, who loomed in her imagination like some
dread Genie in his disposition over their fate should receive the
intelligence by cutting off the supplies and hurling maledictions at
Harry's head, what on earth would they do? She had always been very
fond of acting,--indeed, had been quite an authority in drawing-room
theatricals and charades at "The Maples," and with her magnificent
powerful voice, what a pity she could not go on the stage! She had read
in novels of girls offering themselves to a manager and realizing
fabulous sums, and eighteen pounds a year seemed to be her net value in
the governess market. Then Harry might go to sea for a year or two,--they
were both so young,--and by that time things might look brighter, or the
Genie relent.

She and Archie had a good time that bright winter day, and tired
themselves out completely. He could pass from the immediate enjoyment of
a meal to a snooze on the rug before the fire; but after Bluebell had had
some tea, there remained many hours at her disposal before bed-time. She
would have liked to have written a long letter to her mother; but if it
must be worded so guardedly, where was the good? So she flew to her
unfailing friend, the piano, and interpreted Schumann and Beethoven to
a late hour, while the carpenter and his wife, listening in the kitchen,
"wished that the lady would play something with a bit of tune in it, and
not be always practising them exercises."

CHAPTER XXXI.

BROMLEY TOWERS.

Had yon ever a cousin, Tom'
And did that cousin happen to sing'
Sisters we have by the dozen,
But a cousin's a different thing
--Hon. Mrs. Norton.

Harry had stayed the night in London, and rather wished, for the present,
it might be inferred that he had been there all the time. It was some
distance from Bromley Towers, and quite dusk as he drove through the
park. Snow was on the ground, and still falling slowly, the two roaring
fires in the hall, as the doors were thrown open, flung a red light on
the holly berries and gigantic bunch of mistletoe suspended from the
chandelier, and flickered on dark oil paintings let into the panels. The
footmen were