s fact seemed to warm Miss March's manner,
rather shy and reserved though it was, at least to him. She told us
many an innocent tale of her life there--of her childish days, and of
her dear old governess, whose name, I remember, was Cardigan. She
seemed to have grown up solely under that lady's charge. It was not
difficult to guess--though I forget whether she distinctly told us
so--that "poor mamma" had died so early as to become a mere name to her
orphan daughter. She evidently owed everything she was to this good
governess.

"My dear," at last said Mr. March, rather testily, "you make rather too
much of our excellent Jane Cardigan. She is going to be married, and
she will not care for you now."

"Hush! papa, that is a secret at present. Pray, Mr. Halifax, do you
know Norton Bury?"

The abruptness of the question startled John, so that he only answered
in a hurried affirmative. Indeed, Mr. March left him no time for
further explanation.

"I hate the place. My late wife's cousins, the Brithwoods of the
Mythe, with whom I have had--ahem!--strong political differences--live
there. And I was once nearly drowned in the Severn, close by."

"Papa, don't speak of that, please," said Miss March, hurriedly; so
hurriedly that I am sure she did not notice what would otherwise have
been plain enough--John's sudden and violent colour. But the flush
died down again--he never spoke a word. And, of course, acting on his
evident desire, neither did I.

"For my part," continued the young lady, "I have no dislike to Norton
Bury. Indeed, I rather admired the place, if I remember right."

"You have been there?" Though it was the simplest question, John's
sudden look at her, and the soft inflection of his voice, struck me as
peculiar.

"Once, when I was about twelve years old. But we will talk of
something papa likes better. I am sure papa enjoys this lovely
evening. Hark! how the doves are cooing in the beech-wood."

I asked her if she had ever been in the beech-wood.

No; she was quite unacquainted with its mysteries--the fern-glades, the
woodbine tangles, and the stream, that, if you listened attentively,
you could hear faintly gurgling even where we sat.

"I did not know there was a stream so near. I have generally taken my
walks across the Flat," said Miss March, smiling, and then blushing at
having done so, though it was the faintest blush imaginable.

Neither of us made any reply.

Mr. March settled