few families of ancient birth or high standing,
there were many of our own station, forming a
pleasant, hospitable, social class. Our
residences were commodious modern houses, built
at convenient distances from each other. Some
of these, including our own, were the property
of an infirm old man, who dwelt in his family
mansion, the last of the many gabled, half-
timbered, Elizabethan houses which had stood
upon the undiscovered iron and coal fields.
The last relics of the rural aristocracy of the
district, Mr. Fraser and his son led a strictly
recluse life, avoiding all communication with
their neighbours, whose gaiety and hospitality
they could not reciprocate. No one intruded
upon their privacy, excepting for the most
necessary business transactions. The elder man
was almost bedridden, and the younger was said
to be entirely absorbed in scientific pursuits.
No wonder that Barbara laughed; but her
ridicule only excited and confirmed my determination;
and the very difficulty of the enterprise
gave it the interest that all my other efforts had
lacked. I argued obstinately with Barbara till
I won her consent.

"You must write to old Mr. Fraser," I said.
"Do not mention the young one, and say your
youngest sister is studying astronomy, and, as he
possesses the only telescope in the country, you
will be greatly indebted to him if he would let
her see it."

"There is one thing in your favour," Barbara
remarked, as she sat down to write; " the old
gentleman was once engaged to your mother."

Oh! I am humbled to think how shrewdly we
managed our business, and extorted a kind
invitation from Mr. Fraser to the "daughter of his
old friend, Maria Horley."

It was an evening in February when,
accompanied only by an old servant — for Barbara was
not included in the invitation—I first crossed the
threshold of Martin Fraser's home.

An air of profound peace pervaded the
dwelling. I entered it with a vague, uneasy
consciousness of unfitness and treachery. My
attendant remained in the entrance-hall, and, as
I was conducted to the library, a feeling of
shyness stole over me, which was prompting me to
retreat; but, with the recollection that I was
becomingly dressed, I regained my confidence,
and advanced smilingly into the room. It was
a low, oaken-panelled room, sombre, with
massive antique furniture that threw deep and
curious shadows around, in the flickering light
of a fire, by which stood, instead of the recluse,
Martin Fraser whom I expected to meet, a
quaint, little child, dressed in the garb of a
woman, and with a woman's self-possession and
ease of manner.

"I am very glad to see you. You are
welcome," she said, advancing to meet me, and
extending her hand to lead me to a seat. She
clasped my hand with a firm and peculiar grasp;
a clasp of guidance and assistance, quite unlike
the ordinary timidity or inertness of a child's
manner, and, placing me in a chair before the
fire, she seated herself nearly opposite me.

I made a few embarrassed remarks, to which
she replied, and then I noticed her furtively
and in silence. A huge black retriever lay
motionless at her feet, which rested upon
him, covered with the folds of the long robe-
like dress she wore. There was an expression
of placidity, slightly pensive, upon her tiny
features, heightened by a peculiar habit of
closing the eyes, which is rarely seen in
children, and always gives them a statuesque
appearance. It seemed as though she had
withdrawn herself into a solitary self-communing,
of which there could be no expression
either by words or looks. I grew afraid of the
silent, weird-like creature, sitting without apparent
breath or motion in the dancing fire-light,
and I was glad when the door opened, and the
object of my pursuit entered. I looked at him
inquisitively, for I had recovered from my sense
of treachery, and it amused me to think how
unconscious he was of our definite plans
concerning him. Hitherto the young men I had
met had a fear of being caught, greater than
my desire to catch them, so our contest
had been an open and equal one; but Martin
Fraser knew nothing of the wiles of woman. I
remembered that my brown hair fell in curls
round my face, and that my dark blue eyes
were considered expressive, when I looked up
to meet his gaze; but when he accosted me
with an air of grave preoccupation and of
courteous indifference that would not permit
him to notice my personal charms, I trembled
to think that all I knew of astronomy was what
I had learned at school in Mangnall's Questions.

The grave, austere man said at once:

"My father, Mr. Fraser, is altogether
confined to his own rooms, but he desires the
favour of a visit from you. Upon me devolves
the honour of showing you what you require to
view through the telescope, and, while I adjust
it, will you oblige him by conversing with him for a
few minutes? Lucy Fraser will accompany you."

The child rose, and, taking my hand again in
her firm hold, led me to the old man's sitting-room.

"You are like your mother, child," he said,
after looking at me long; "you have her face
and eyes; not a whit like your sister Barbara.
How did you come by your out-of-the-way name,
Stella?"

"My father named me after a favourite
racer," I answered, for the first time giving the
simple derivation of my name.

"Just like him," laughed the old man; " I
remember the horse well. I knew your father
as well as I do my son Martin. You have seen
my son, young lady? Yes, I thought so; and
this is my granddaughter, Lucy Fraser, the
last chip of the old block; for my son is not a
marrying man, and we have adopted her as our
heir, and she is always to keep her name, and
be the founder of another line of Frasers.

The child stood with pensive, downcast eyes,
as though already bowed down by her weight
of cares and responsibilities; the old man
chatted on, till the deep tones of an organ
resounded through the house.