kills poor Rosey. Did you hear her voice at your church? The dear girl
is delighted with the chants. Rosey, were you not delighted with the
chants?"

If she is delighted with the chants, Honeyman is delighted with the
chantress and her mamma. He dashes the fair hair from his brow: he sits
down to the piano, and plays one or two of them, warbling a faint
vocal accompaniment, and looking as if he would be lifted off the screw
music-stool, and flutter up to the ceiling.

"Oh, it's just seraphic!" says the widow. "It's just the breath of
incense and the pealing of the organ at the Cathedral at Montreal. Rosey
doesn't remember Montreal. She was a wee wee child. She was born on the
voyage out, and christened at sea. You remember, Goby."

"Gad, I promised and vowed to teach her her catechism; 'gad, but I
haven't," says Captain Goby. "We were between Montreal and Quebec for
three years with the Hundredth, and the Hundred Twentieth Highlanders,
and the Thirty-third Dragoon Guards a part of the time; Fipley commanded
them, and a very jolly time we had. Much better than the West Indies,
where a fellow's liver goes to the deuce with hot pickles and sangaree.
Mackenzie was a dev'lish wild fellow," whispers Captain Goby to his
neighbour (the present biographer, indeed), "and Mrs. Mack was as pretty
a little woman as ever you set eyes on." (Captain Goby winks, and looks
peculiarly sly as he makes this statement.) "Our regiment wasn't on your
side of India, Colonel."

And in the interchange of such delightful remarks, and with music and
song, the evening passes away. "Since the house had been adorned by the
fair presence of Mrs. Mackenzie and her daughter," Honeyman said, always
gallant in behaviour and flowery in expression, "it seemed as if spring
had visited it. Its hospitality was invested with a new grace; its ever
welcome little reunions were doubly charming. But why did these ladies
come, if they were to go away again? How--how would Mr. Binnie console
himself (not to mention others) if they left him in solitude?"

"We have no wish to leave my brother James in solitude," cries Mrs.
Mackenzie, frankly laughing. "We like London a great deal better than
Musselburgh."

"Oh, that we do!" ejaculates the blushing Rosey.

"And we will stay as long as ever my brother will keep us," continues
the widow.

"Uncle James is so kind and dear," says Rosey. "I hope he won't send me
and mamma away."

"He were a brute--a savage, if he