s' shoulder, and they went through the
plantation to the house, skirting it to the left instead of crossing
it, and so round to the stable-yard and the back premises.

Mrs. Falconer never had old maid servants; she trained girls to fill the
places in her household, and of these, there was an endless stream
passing through. The two in the kitchen now were both kindly,
good-tempered girls, utterly ignorant, but simple-hearted and honest.

"I want this poor young woman," Joyce said, "to rest by the fire; and
give her her supper before she leaves. Sarah, do you hear me?" Joyce
said.

"Yes, miss, I hear," Sarah said, surveying the poor, forlorn girl with
scorn. "Yes, miss. I don't know whether missis would hold with taking in
a tramp like her."

"I am going to ask mother now," Joyce said; "and I know you are
kind-hearted, Sarah, and that you will attend to this poor girl, because
I wish it."

Sarah gave a low sound, which was taken for consent; and Joyce, judging
rightly that Susan Priday would be better left to the servants, went to
find her mother.

As she crossed the hall she met Ralph.

"There are letters from Italy," he said. "Melville had not heard when he
wrote."

"Where are the letters?" Joyce asked.

"Mother has them. There is one for you--not from Italy though; it has
the Bristol post-mark, and is franked. There was an immense deal to pay
for Melville's."

Joyce waited to hear no more, but went to her mother. She was sitting
with her son's letter open before her. It began, "Dear father and
mother," and these words went like a knife through Joyce's heart.

Mrs. Falconer sat day after day in the same chair by the fire-place. Her
large widow's cap--in those days an immense erection of many thick
frillings, and with long "weepers" falling over her shoulders--altered
her so entirely, scarcely any one would have recognised her.

Joyce glanced through the letter. It was as self-sufficient and trifling
as ever. Melville found foreign travel less delightful than he had
expected.

The diligence was then the universal mode of transit through France, and
the two travellers had taken a whole month to reach Hyeres, a journey
which can now be got through in three days at the longest calculation.
Melville complained of the food and the cramped diligence, and how the
smell of garlic made him sick; and how old Crawford was as "stiff as
starch," and that he did not think he should stay away long.

Of Genoa la Super