ts Prince of Wales' feathers, gayer than ever--though
her pretty face was withering under the paint, and her lively manner
growing coarse and bold.

"Is this Longfield?--Does Mr. Halifax--mon Dieu, Mr. Fletcher, is that
you?"

She held out her hand with the frankest condescension, and in the
brightest humour in the world. She insisted on sending on the
carriage, and accompanying me down to the stream, for a "surprise"--a
"scene."

Mrs. Halifax, seeing the coach drive on, had evidently forgotten all
about it. She stood in the little dell which the stream had made,
Walter in her arms--her figure thrown back, so as to poise the child's
weight. Her right hand kept firm hold of Guy, who was paddling
barefoot in the stream: Edwin, the only one of the boys who never gave
any trouble, was soberly digging away, beside little Muriel.

The lady clapped her hands. "Brava! bravissima! a charming family
picture, Mrs. Halifax."

"Lady Caroline!"

Ursula left her children, and came to greet her old acquaintance, whom
she had never once seen since she was Ursula Halifax. Perhaps that
fact touched her, and it was with a kind of involuntary tenderness that
she looked into the sickly face, where all the smiles could not hide
the wrinkles.

"It is many years since we met; and we are both somewhat altered,
Cousin Caroline."

"You are, with those three great boys. The little girl yours also?--Oh
yes, I remember William told me--poor little thing!" And with uneasy
awe she turned from our blind Muriel, our child of peace.

"Will you come up to the house? my husband has only ridden over to
Enderley; he will be home soon."

"And glad to see me, I wonder? For I am rather afraid of that husband
of yours--eh, Ursula? Yet I should greatly like to stay."

Ursula laughed, and repeated the welcome. She was so happy
herself--she longed to distribute her happiness. They walked, the
children following, towards the house.

Under the great walnut-tree, by the sunk fence which guarded the
flower-garden from the sheep and cows, Mrs. Halifax stopped and pointed
down the green slope of the field, across the valley, to the wooded
hills opposite.

"Isn't it a pretty view?" said Guy, creeping up and touching the
stranger's gown; our children had lived too much in an atmosphere of
love to know either shyness or fear.

"Very pretty, my little friend."

"That's One-tree Hill. Father is going to take us all a walk there
this afternoon