am Raby is
getting on, I'm pleased to say."

Justina had soon seen the flowers enough, and Emily could not make up
her mind to inspect anything else. She therefore returned towards the
library, and Barbara walked silently beside her.

As she stepped in at the open window, a sound of sobbing startled her.
An oil painting, a portrait of John in his boyhood, hung against the
wall. Gladys stood with her face leaning against one of the hands that
hung down. Emily heard her words distinctly: "Oh, papa! Oh, papa! Oh, my
father beloved!" but the instant she caught the sound of footsteps, she
darted off like a frightened bird, and fled away without even looking
found.

Then the twin sister turned slowly, and looked at Emily with entreating
eyes, saying--"Is it true, Mrs. Walker? Dear Mrs. Walker, is it really
true?"

Emily felt cold at heart. How could she tell? John's words went for
nothing; Miss Christie might have mistaken them. She did not pretend to
misunderstand, but said she did not know; she had no reason to think it
was true.

"But everybody says so," sighed Barbara.

"If your father has said nothing--" Emily began.

"No," she answered; her father had said nothing at all; but the mere
mention of his name seemed to overcome her.

Emily sat down, talked to her, and tried to soothe her; but she had no
distinct denial to give, and in five minutes Barbara, kneeling before
her, was sobbing on her bosom, and bemoaning herself as if she would
break her heart.

Truly the case of a step-mother is hard.

Emily leaned her cheek upon the young upturned forehead. She faltered a
little as she spoke. If her father chose to marry again, had he not a
right? If she loved him, surely she wanted him to be--happy.

"But she is a nasty, nasty thing," sobbed Barbara, with vehement
heavings of the chest and broken words, "and--and--I am sure I hate her,
and so does Gladys, and so does Johnnie too." Then her voice softened
again--"Oh, father, father! I would take such care of the little ones if
you wouldn't do it! and we would never, never quarrel with the
governesses, or make game of them any more."

Emily drew her yet nearer to herself, and said in the stillest, most
matter-of-fact tone--

"Of course you know that you are a very naughty girl, my sweet."

"Yes," said Barbara ruefully.

"And very silly too," she continued; but there was something so tender
and caressing in her manner, that the words sounded like anything but