Hardies." "No, and thank Heaven," said Julia,
defiantly. "Yes, mamma," she continued, in
answer to Mrs. Dodd's eyebrow, which had
curved; "your mild glance reads my soul; I
detest that boy." Mrs. Dodd smiled. "Are
you sure you know what the word 'detest'
means? and what has young Mr. Hardie done,
that you should bestow so violent a sentiment on
him?"

"Mamma, I am Edward's sister," was the
tragic reply; then, kicking off the buskin pretty
nimbly, "there! he beats our boy at everything,
and ours sits quietly down and admires
him for it: oh! how can a man let anybody or
anything beat him? I wouldn't; without a
desperate struggle." She clenched her white
teeth and imagined the struggle. To be sure,
she owned she had never seen this Mr. Hardie,
but after all it was only Jane Hardie's brother,
as Edward was hers; "and would I sit down
and let Jane beat me at Things? never! never!
never! I couldn't."

"Your friend to the death, dear; was not that
your expression?"

"Oh, that was a slip of the tongue, dear
mamma; I was off my guard. I generally am,
by the way. But now I am on it, and propose
an amendment. Now I second it. Now I carry
it,"

"And now let me hear it."

"She is my friend till death—or Eclipse; and
that means until she eclipses me, of course." But
Julia added softly, and with sudden gravity:
"Ah! Jane Hardie has a fault, which will always
prevent her from eclipsing your humble servant
in this wicked world."

"What is that?"

"She is too good. Much."

"Par exemple!"

"Too religious."

"Oh, that is another matter."

"For shame, mamma! I am glad to hear it:
for, I scorn a life of frivolity, but then, again, I
should not like to give up everything, you
know."

Mrs. Dodd looked a little staggered, too, at
so vast a scheme of capitulation. But "everything"
was soon explained to mean balls,
concerts, dinner-parties in general, tea-parties without
exposition of Scripture, races and operas,
cards, charades, and whatever else amuses
society without perceptibly sanctifying it. All
these, by Julia's account, Miss Hardie had
renounced, and was now denouncing (with the
young the latter verb treads on the very heels of
the former). "And, you know, she is a district
visitor!"

This climax delivered, Julia stopped short, and
awaited the result.

Mrs. Dodd heard it all with quiet disapproval
and cool incredulity. She had seen so many
young ladies healed of so many young
enthusiasms, by a wedding ring. But while she was
searching diligently in her mine of ladylike
English—mine with plenty of water in it, begging
her pardon—for expressions to convey inoffensively,
and roundabout, her conviction that
Miss Hardie was a little, furious, simpleton, the
post came, and swept the subject away in a
moment.

Two letters; one from Calcutta, one from
Oxford.

They came quietly in upon one salver, and
were opened and read with pleasurable interest,
but without surprise, or misgiving; and without
the slightest foretaste of their grave and singular
consequences.

Rivers deep and broad start from such little
springs.

David's letter was of unusual length for him.
The main topics were, first, the date and manner
of his return home. His ship, a very old one,
had been condemned in port: and he was to sail
a fine new teak-built vessel, the Agra, as far as
the Cape; where her captain, just recovered from
a severe illness, would come on board, and convey
her and him to England. In future, Dodd was
to command one of the Company's large steamers
to Alexandria and back.

"It is rather a come-down for a sailor, to go
straight ahead like a wheelbarrow, in all weathers,
with a steam-pot and a crew of coalheavers. But
then I shall not be parted from my sweetheart
such long dreary spells as I have been this twenty
years, my dear love: so is it for me to
complain?"

The second topic was pecuniary: the transfer
of their savings from India, where interest was
higher than at home, but the capital not so
secure.

And the third was ardent and tender expressions
of affection for the wife and children he
adored. These effusions of the heart had no
separate place, except in my somewhat arbitrary
analysis of the honest sailor's letter; they were
the under-current.

Mrs. Dodd read part of it out to Julia; in fact,
all but the money matter: that concerned the
heads of the family more immediately; and
Cash was a topic her daughter did not understand,
nor care about. And, when Mrs. Dodd had
read it with glistening eyes, she kissed it
tenderly, and read it all over again to herself, and
then put it into her bosom as naïvely as a
milkmaid in love.

Edward's letter was short enough, and Mrs.
Dodd allowed Julia to read it to her, which she
did with panting breath, and glowing cheeks,
and a running fire of comments.

"'Dear Mamma, I hope you and Ju are quite
well——'"

"Ju," murmured Mrs. Dodd, plaintively.

"'—And that there is good news about papa
coming home. As for me, I have plenty on my
hands just now; all this term I have been'
('training' scratched out, and another word put
in: c r—oh, I know) 'cramming.'"

"Cramming, love?"

"Yes, that is the Oxfordish for studying."