ited Emily, and she allowed herself to speak with that
tender reverence of the dead which came very well from her, since she
had loved him living so well. She was rather eloquent when her feelings
were touched, and then she had a sweet and penetrative voice. John liked
to hear her; he recalled her words when he had parted with her at her
own door, and felt that no one else had said anything of his father that
was half so much to his mind. It was nearly four weeks after this that
Emily fully confessed to herself what had occurred.

The dinner, after John Mortimer withdrew that day and Emily made to
herself this confession, was happily relieved by the company of three or
four neighbours, otherwise the hostess might have been made to feel very
plainly that she had displeased her guest. But the next morning Justina,
having had time to consider that Emily must on no account be annoyed,
came down all serenity and kindliness. She was so attentive to the lame
old aunt, and though the poor lady, being rather in pain, was decidedly
snappish, she did not betray any feeling of disapproval.

"Ay," said Miss Christie to herself when the two ladies had set off on
their short walk, "yon's not so straightforward and simple as I once
thought her. Only give her a chance, and as sure as death she'll get
hold of John, after all."

Emily and Justina went across the fields and came to John's garden, over
the wooden bridge that spanned the brook.

The sunny sloping garden was full of spring flowers. Vines, not yet in
leaf, were trained all over the back of the house, clematis and jasmine,
climbing up them and over them, were pouring themselves down again in
great twisted strands; windows peeped out of ivy, and the old red-tiled
roof, warm and mossy, looked homely and comfortable. A certain air of
old-fashioned, easy comfort pervaded the whole place; large bay windows,
with little roofs of their own, came boldly forth, and commanded a good
view of other windows--ivied windows that retired unaccountably. There
were no right lines. Casements at one end of the house showed in three
tiers, at the other there were but two. The only thing that was
perfectly at ease about itself, and quite clear that it ought to be
seen, was the roof. You could not possibly make a "stuck-up" house, or a
smart villa, or a modern family house of one that had a roof like that.
The late Mrs. Mortimer had wished it could be taken away. She would have
liked the house to