monotonous for some time past, and I began to think
it time to get up some little entertainment with
my unknown friends, the Clifions. I was just
thinking of it as the train stopped at the station
about a mile from the town where they lived,
and their postman, a gruff matter-of-fact fellow—-
you could see it in every line of his face—- put in
the letter-bags, and with them a letter addressed
to me. It was in an official envelope, " On Her
Majesty's Service," and the seal was an official
seal. On the folded paper inside it (folded officially
also) I read the following order: "Mr.
Wilcox is requested to permit the bearer, the
daughter of the postmaster at Eaton, to see the
working of the railway post-office during the up-
journey." The writing I knew well as being
that of one of the surveyor's clerks, and I he
signature was Mr. Huntingdon's. The bearer of
the order presented herself at the door, the
snorting of the engine gave notice of the instant
departure of the train, I held out my hand, the
young lady sprang  lightly and deftly into the van,
and we were off again on our midnight journey.

She was a small slight creature, one of
those slender little girls one never thinks of as
being a woman, dressed neatly and plainly in
a dark dress, with a veil hanging a little over
her face and tied under her chin: the most
noticeable thing about her appearance being a
great mass of light hair, almost yellow, which
had got loose in some way, and fell down her
neck in thick wavy tresses. She had a free
pleasant way about her, not in the least bold or
forward, which in a minute or two made her
presence seem the most natural thing in the
world. As she stood beside me before the
row of boxes into which I was sorting my
letters, she asked questions and I answered
as if it, were quite an every-day occurrence for
us to be travelling up together in the night mail
to Euston-square station. I blamed myself for
an idiot that I had not sooner made an opportunity
for visiting my unknown friends at Eaton.

"Then," I said. putting down the letter-bill
from their own office before her, "may I ask
which of the signatures I know so well, is
yours? Is it A. Clifton, or M. Clifton, or
S.Clifton. She hesitated a little, and blushed,
and lifted up her frank childlike eyes to mine.

"I am A. Clifton," she answered.

"And your name?" I said.

"Anne;" then, as if anxious to give some
explanation to me of her present position, she
added, " I was going up to London on a visit,
and I thought it would be so nice to travel in
the post-office to see how the work was done,
and Mr. Huntingdon came to survey our office,
and he said lie would send me an order."

I felt somewhat surprised, for a stricter
martinet than Mr. Huntingdon did not breathe;
but I glanced down at the small innocent face
at my side, and cordially approved of his departure
from ordinary rules.

"Did you know yon would travel with me':"
I asked, in a lower voice; for Tom Morville, my
junior, was at my other elbow.

"1 knew I should travel wiih Mr. Wilcox,"
she answered, with a smile that made all my
nerves tingle.

"Yon have not written me a word for ages,"
said I, reproachfully.

"Yon had better not talk, or you'll be making
mistakes," she replied, in an arch tone. It
was quite true; for, a sudden confusion coming
over me, I was sorting the letters at random.

We were just then approaching the small
station where the letter-bag from the great
house was taken up. The engine was slackening
speed. Miss Clifton manifested some
natural and becoming diffidence.

"It would look so odd," she said, " to any
one on the platform, to see a girl in the post-
office van! And they couldn't know I was a
postmaster's daughter, and had an order from
Mr. Huntingdon. Is there no dark corner to
shelter me?"

I must explain to you in a word or two the
construction of the van, which was much less
efficiently fitted up than the travelling post-
offices of the present day. It was a reversible
van, with a door at each right-hand corner. At
each door the letter-boxes were so arranged as
to form a kind of screen about two feet in
width, which prevented people from seeing all
over the carriage at once. Thus the door at the
far end of the van, the one not in use at the
time, was thrown into deep shadow, and the
screen before it turned it into a small niche,
where a slight little person like Miss Clifton
was very well concealed from curious eyes.
Before the train came within the light from the
lamps on the platform, she ensconced herself in
this shelter. No one but I could see her laughing
face, as she stood there leaning cautiously forward
with her finger pressed upon her rosy lips,
peeping at the messenger who delivered into my
own hands the Premier's despatch-box, while
Tom Morville received the letter-bag of the
great house.

"See," I said, when we were again in motion,
and she had emerged from her concealment,
"this is the Premier's despatch-box, going back
to the Secretary of State. There are some state
secrets for you, and ladies are fond of secrets."

"O! I know nothing about politics," she
answered, indifferently, "and we have had that
box through our office a time or two."

"Did you ever notice this mark upon it," I
asked " a heart with a dagger through it?"
and bending down my face to hers, I added a
certain spooney remark, which I do not care to
repeat. Miss Clifton tossed her little head,
and pouted her lips; but she took the box out
of my hands, and carried it to the lamp nearest,
the further end of the van, after which she put
it down upon the counter close beside the
screen, and I thought no more about it. The
midnight ride was entertaining in the extreme,
for the girl was full of young life and sauciness
and merry humour. I can safely aver that I
have never been to an evening's so-called
entertainment which, to me, was half so enjoyable.
It added also to the zest and keen edge
of the enjoyment to see her hasten to hide