or accent, now struck her as distinctive of a
class, a class to which no imitation would ever give her a resemblance.
If it were not for very shame, she would have drawn back now at the
eleventh hour. More than once was she on the verge of confessing what
was passing within her mind; but fears of various kinds, of her father's
anger, of ridicule, of the charge of frivolity, all conspired to keep
her silent, and she sat and listened to descriptions of pleasure and
scenes wherein she had already lost every interest, and which somehow
came associated with a sense of her own inferiority.

Never did home seem so regrettable as in that moment: the humble
fireside in winter; the happy evenings with little Hanserl; the summer's
day rambles in the forest; their little feasts beside the waterfall,
under the ivy-clad walls of Eberstein, all rose before her. They were
pleasures which had no alloy in her own humble lot, and why desert them?
She had almost gained courage to say that she would not, when a chance
word caught her ear one word how little to hang a destiny upon! It was
Lady Hester, who, conversing in a half-whisper with Mr. Dalton, said,

"She will be perfectly beautiful when dressed becomingly."

Was this, then, all that was needed to give her the stamp and semblance
of the others? Oh, if she could believe it! If she could but fancy that,
at some future time, such graceful elegance should be her own, that
gentle languor, that chastened quietude of Sydney, or that sparkling
lightness of Lady Hester herself!

"What time de horses, saar?" said the courier, popping his head into the
room.

"I scarcely know what do you say, Lady Hester?"

"I 'm quite ready this instant if you like indeed, I 'm always the
first," said she, gayly; "nobody travels with less preparation than I
do. There, see all I want!" and she pointed to a fan, and a book, and a
smelling-bottle, as if all her worldly effects and requirements went no
further, and that four great imperials and a dozen capacious boxes
were not packed with her wardrobe. "I do detest the worry and fuss some
people make about a journey for a week, or even a month beforehand; they
unsettle themselves and every one around them; putting under lock
and key half the things of every-day utility, and making a kind of
'jail-delivery' of all the imprisoned old cloaks and dresses of the
toilet. As for me, I take the road as I 'd go to the Opera, or drive out
in the Park I ask for my bon