es during that first day she made
wondering observations. She looked in vain for the light-hearted
companionable young fellow with whom she had become intimate in cousinly
fashion, and whom she had fully hoped to consult about a certain affair
of her own. She saw an air of oppressive bitterness and absence of mind
that discouraged her greatly. "There is no mistaking his expression of
countenance," she thought; "he must have been disappointed in love."

"Laura," exclaimed Mrs. Melcombe, when the two ladies, having left the
dining-room, were alone together in the old grandmother's favourite
parlour, now used as a drawing-room--"Laura, what can this mean? Is he
dyspeptic? Is he hypochondriacal? I declare, if Mr. Craik had not been
invited to meet us, I hardly see how we could have got through the
dinner: he is very odd."

"And surely the conversation was odd too," said Laura. "How they did
talk about old Becky Maddison and her death this afternoon! How
fervently he expressed his gladness that Mr. Craik had seen her to-day,
and had administered the sacrament to her! I suppose you observed
Valentine's hesitation when you asked if he believed her story?"

"Yes; I felt for the moment as if I had no patience with him, and I
asked because I wanted to bring him to reason. He can hardly wish to own
before sensible people that he does believe it; and if he does not, he
must know that she was an impostor, poor old creature." Then she
repeated, "He is very odd," and Laura said--

"But we know but little of him. It may be his way to have fits of
melancholy now and then. How handsome he is!"

Amelia admitted this; adding, "And he looks better without that
perpetual smile. He had an illness, I think, two years ago; but he
certainly appears to be perfectly well now. It cannot be his health that
fails him."

There was the same surprise next morning. Valentine seemed to be making
an effort to entertain them, but he frequently lapsed into silence and
thought. No jokes, good or bad, were forthcoming. Mrs. Melcombe felt
that if she had not received such a warm and pressing invitation to come
to visit Melcombe, she must have now supposed herself to be unwelcome.
She took out some work, and sat in the room where they had breakfasted,
hoping to find an opportunity to converse with him on her own plans and
prospects; while Laura, led by her affectionate feelings, put on her hat
and sauntered down the garden--to the lily-bed of course, and t