mine exactly.—I shall never get him to talk
good English, Mrs. Gough, no more than he will
ever teach me to pronounce good French; and
that's speaking pretty strongly, as you would
know if you had ever heard my attempts."

"She speaks very well, Madame," interrupted
her bridegroom elect. "She can say 'oui,' and
'je t'aime,' and dat's so much French as I ask
of her."

While we were laughing at this, and Miss
Wokenham was protesting, with unnecessary
vehemence, that she never said "je t'aime" to
him, and was declaring that her friends would
think she had taken leave of the last remnant
of her senses if he went on in that way, my
uncle and Horace Lee entered together.

"I picked up this young gentleman on my
way home from Oatlands; or, rather, he picked
up me, for I was afoot, and he driving in
Rotherwood's gig. He has been surveying, and
measuring and tramping through ploughed fields
with a chain round his middle, or some such
adornment, and——"

"—And he is not fit to come into the presence
of ladies, Mrs. Gough," said Horace, finishing
my uncle's speech. "But there was no refusing.
You know how positive your lord and master
can be on occasion."

"She know!" said my uncle, with a laugh.
"O the sweet simplicity of three-and-twenty!
As if a man was ever positive with his wife!
But there, laddie, run to my room—you know
the way—and polish yourself up before the
candles come. No one has seen how you look
yet."

It was quite dark, except just within range
of the deep red glow from the hearth; for we
all loved the dreamy fitful firelight, and had sat
talking by it until the faint grey ghost of day,
peeping in at the windows, had melted into the
dense blackness of a winter night.

"Where's Nanny?" asked my uncle,
suddenly, when he was seated in his arm-chair,
enjoying a tankard of hot mulled wine which
Aunt Gough had prepared with her own hands.
Aunt was busy now, spicing a similar jorum for
Mr. Lee, to warm him after the cold ploughed
fields. "Where's Nanny? I haven't set eyes
on her bonny face to-day."

She had been in the midst of us when they
entered, but had vanished.

"Mademoiselle Anna was nearest de door
when Monsieur Gough and Monsieur Lee came
in, and she sl-slapped away wizout one word.
I rummarark it," said M'sieu'.

"Slapped away! My goodness, Lewis! slipped,
you mean—slipped away," cried Miss Wokenham,
with comical consternation.

"Ah bien, sleeped," said De Beauguet, with
perfect good humour, smiling round on us all:
"she sleeped away quite quiet."

"We'll wake her up, wilful baggage!" said
my uncle, who could not bear to miss Anna's
bright face from the home circle, even for a
moment. But almost as he spoke, the door
opened, and my sister came in, followed by
Horace Lee. "Why, whither did you two run
off together?" asked Uncle Gough. "Come
here, sauce-box. This is a warm reception to
give the master of the house, to run away as
soon as he shows his face!"

"I overtook Miss Anna on the stairs as I
was coming down, sir," Horace Lee explained,
as he drew his chair up to the fire, next
mine. I looked at my sister, and noticed
that she had been to her room, to put on a
scarlet ribbon which she sometimes wore in
her dark curls, and which she had tied very
archly and becomingly over one ear. Miss
Wokenham, whose observation was singularly
keen, noticed the ribbon too, but said nothing.
Only I saw her watching Anna, with a curious
intent look in her eyes, all the evening. After
all, the little harmless bit of coquetry was
nothing very wonderful, especially in Anna,
who made no secret of the pleasure she took
in her own good looks. She was very handsome.
And as she sat on the soft white rug at
my uncle's feet, with her pretty round arm
leaning on his knee, and her animated face
flushed and smiling, I thought I had never seen
a bonnier sight, even in a picture. So thought
uncle too, for he sat looking down upon her
with a smile of positive enchantment.

"Sing us a song, Nanny," he said at last.
"Let M'sieu' hear one of our Border ditties.
Not scientific music, you know, M'sieu', but
simple old songs, where the words and the tune
seem to belong to each other, and to grow out of
each other like the leaf and blossom of a flower.
Sing us 'Sir Patrick Spence,' Nanny."

"Not if you call me Nanny," said she, pouting.
"For my part, I don't know what is the
use of one's godfathers and godmothers giving
one a pretty name, if it's to be uglified into
Nan and Nanny. I'd as soon be called Sukey."

"But pretty names are for pretty people.
Don't you know that, Nanny? Well, there!
Anna then. Don't flame up like a volcano, but
sing us 'Sir Patrick Spence,' my bairn."

But Anna was ruffled, and would not sing
Sir Patrick Spence, or any other song. Her
temper was very capricious, and had been
pampered by constant indulgence. My aunt
and uncle began to coax her in their gentle
loving way, and Monsieur De Beauguet added a
polite hope that Mademoiselle would give him
the great pleasure of hearing her charming
voice; but she only shook her rich ringlets,
and kept her eyes obstinately fixed on the
floor.

"You ask her, Horace," said my uncle, on a
sudden. "Try if she won't sing for you."

Horace was sitting silent beside me, and had
not seemed to hear the discussion. He had a
very absent way with him sometimes, and he sat
playing with a little hair chain, twisting it
round and round his fingers. It was mine. I
wore it round my neck, supporting a gold locket
which contained some of our dead parents' hair.
Anna and I had each one alike. The clasp of
mine had come unloosed, and it had fallen on
the carpet. I did not replace it at once on my
neck, and Horace took it up from the table