recognised the resemblance to Mr.
Mugworthy's professional utterance of the Amen.

"Why, Miss Turtle," she said, "I didn't
know you were so satirical."

"Satirical! Oh pray don't say that,
Miss Desmond. I should be loath, indeed,
to think so of myself. If I was satirical, it
was quite unawares, I assure you."

Miss Turtle fidgeted with her paper
parcel, tightening its strings, and putting
it into shape. Then she peeped into the
basket, as if to assure herself that its
contents were safe. She showed no symptom
of being about to resume her walk, and
there was a mingled hesitation and eagerness
in her face every time she looked at
Maud. These conflicting sentiments at
length resolved themselves into a question
that indirectly approached the main point
to which her curiosity was directed.

"Ahem! And so, Miss Desmond, you
don't—ahem!—you don't find our revered
vicar much broken by all he has gone
through?"

Maud drew herself up, and looked full
at the speaker. But Miss Turtle's wishy-
washy little countenance was so meek and
meaningless that resentment seemed
absurd.

The governess's straw hat was somewhat
on one side; and so was the long
ragged feather that adorned it, as it had
successively adorned a long series of hats,
beginning Anno Domini—but no matter for
the date. Miss Turtle and her black ostrich
feather were coeval in the chronicles of
Shipley; for the good and sufficient reason
that they had immigrated into Daneshire
together. The long feather, wafted hither
and thither by the capricious airs, and made
lank and straight by the capricious showers
of spring, drooped carelessly over the brim
of the hat, and overshadowed Miss Turtle's
little snub nose, with a shabbily swaggering
air ludicrously at variance with the
expression of the face beneath it.

"I told you that Mr. Levincourt was
quite well," said Maud.

"And you, Miss Desmond," said Miss
Turtle, timidly putting out the tip of her
cotton glove to touch Maud's black dress,
"you too have had a good deal of trouble."

"I have lost a dear relative and a true
friend."

"To be sure. Oh dear me! Life is a
shadow. How it flies! Don't you find it
so, Miss Desmond? You have lost your
aunt; a lady of title too," added Miss
Turtle, with so comical an air of being
shocked and surprised by this circumstance
above all, and of murmuring reproachfully
to the great democrat, Death, 'How could
you?—a person so well connected, and
habitually addressed by mankind as 'my
lady!' that Maud's sense of humour
conquered her sadness, and she turned away
her face lest Miss Turtle should be
scandalised by the smile on it.

Miss Turtle's next words, however, effectually
sobered the mobile, dimpling mouth.

"Yes; you have lost your aunt—and
your uncle, if what we hear is true."

Maud's heart beat fast, and she could not
speak. Her nerves quivered in the expec-
tation of hearing Veronica's name. It was
not yet pronounced, however. Miss Turtle
dropped her chin down on her breast, at
the same time throwing back her shoulders
stiffly, and infused a melting tearfulness
into her habitually subdued voice as she
aske: "And have you yet seen Mrs. Plew,
Miss Desmond?"

"Mrs.—Mrs. Plew? No. Poor old lady,
how is she?"

"She's pretty well, thank you, Miss Desmond.
As well as she ever is. She is quite
a character of the olden time; don't you
think so, Miss Desmond?"

"Well I—I—I don't know. She seems
a very good old woman," answered Maud,
considerably at a loss what to say.

"Of course, Miss Desmond, you have
had great scholastic advantages. And I
shouldn't presume to—— But as far as
Pinnock goes, Miss Desmond, I should say
that Mrs. Plew was quite the moral of a
Roman matron!"

Maud stared in unconcealed surprise.

"I should indeed, Miss Desmond,"
pursued the governess, still with the same
tearful tenderness and a kind of suppressed
writhing of her shoulders.

"I have not read the Roman History in
the original. But, if Pinnock may be
relied on, I should say that she quite came
up to my idea of the mother of the Gracchi,"
which Miss Turtle pronounced "Gratchy."

There was so long a pause, and Miss
Turtle so plainly showed that she expected
Maud to speak, that the latter, although
greatly bewildered, at length said, "I have
always supposed Mrs. Plew to be a very
kind, honest, good old woman. I cannot
say she ever struck me in the light of a
Roman matron. Perhaps, on the whole, it
is a better thing to be an English matron;
or we, at least, may be excused for thinking
so. But the fact is, I never was very
intimate with Mrs. Plew. It was my——"

Maud stopped, with a flushed face and