with envy and jealousy towards the other,
who, with dreamy eyes, sensitive mouth, and
aristocratic mien, stands slightly aloof, fearing
a little, and pitying, and wondering,
and sheltering herself by the elder woman's
side. And there is a man's face too,
sometimes of the group, and sometimes not of
it, a genial, laughing, tawny face; and
this last also has left the earth long ago;
but its memory is not hateful to Lady
Humphrey.

But these are not the people whom she has
to deal with at this day, and with a stern shake
of the head she dismisses them to the past to
which they belong. They disappear, and others
spring up and take their place. Lady
Humphrey's eyes now rest upon a happy family
group. There is a stately looking mother, with
surely the same eyes and mouth as that dreamy-
faced girl who has vanished; the same brow, but
for wrinkles; the same hair, but for silver
threads. And there is a son with a great deal
of the delicate nobility of that mother in his
countenance, mixed with much of the sunny
geniality of the father who has passed away.
And there is a girl with a bright face and a
merry tongue, standing beside and between
them. And all pleasant things are round them
in their castle among the hills. And if into the
midst of this happy group and into the heart of
this peaceful home Lady Humphrey should be
planning to introduce her lonely friendless
Hester, who could venture to call her cruel or
unkind?

How are you going to do it, Lady Humphrey?
It is long since you had any intercourse with
the Munros. They have no happy memories
of you, nor you of them. How, then, will you
establish a stranger at their fireside to listen at
the key-holes of their locked closet doors, and
report to you the secrets of their lives? Lady
Humphrey does not see as yet how it shall be,
but she knows that she will find a way to do it.
And in the mean time the drops outside patter
on, and Hester has not yet arrived, is still
tripping gladly through the rain and the
flowers, hastening to put her foot in Lady
Humphrey's trap, to enlist herself
unconsciously as a spy in Lady Humphrey's service.
Ireland is but a name to her, and the troubles
which she has heard spoken of as thickening in
the island are no more to her than colourless
dreams. Yet even at this moment she is running
through the darkness towards Ireland; her
arms are extended to it, her heart is opening
to take it in, the glare of terrible scenes is
reflected in her face. It has been already
decreed by an unscrupulous will that she is
to crush, despoil, suffer, and perhaps die there,
before another year of her young life shall be
spent.

How shall Lady Humphrey work her will ?
Is there not one in all that sunny hill-country
where her youth was passed to whom she can
appeal, out of the fulness of a benevolent heart,
for assistance in her scheme of rescuing an
innocent and industrious orphan girl from the
dangers of a friendless life in London? Can
she not write to Lady Helen Munro, who has
reason to remember her well? Ah no; that
were too dangerous a venture. Well, then,
there is a brave bright face looking out from
among trees somewhere, a face that Lady
Humphrey can never have forgotten, in which all
the world of the simple-hearted and the straight-
minded put involuntary trust. Why not enlist
the sympathy of Mrs. Hazeldean, the doctor's
wife? That were still more impossible. Those
good bright eyes are of the few things ever
feared by Judith Humphrey in her youthful
days.

Why, then there is the little convent on the
hill. Bethink you, my lady, in your solitary
chamber, after all the years of forgetfulness that
have gone by, of the silver bell dropping down
its homely hints about prayer to the simple
people of the village, about forgiveness before
the going down of the sun. There are gentle
souls within those whitewashed walls, too busy
with the ailments of their poor to be not easily
deceived by a pretty tale of mercy. Why not
write them such a letter as you can write, and
have them singing praises to heaven that so
noble a heart as yours has remained unspoiled
in the wicked world? Ay, if the mother abbess,
who was a friend to the pale-haired Judith in
her girlhood, were dead, this might be done.
'Tis true she is an aged woman now, but she
has not yet descended to take possession of her
appointed corner in the little graveyard beside
the sea. Are there not yet many others in this
neighbourhood whose assistance might be sought
in so creditable an enterprise? Yes; but from
the questions Lady Humphrey has been putting
to herself this hour past, and the answers she
has been finding at the bottom of her heart, it
would seem as if every door, even the lowliest
in the village, must have a bar placed across it
at the approach of the shadow of Judith Blake.
Lady Humphrey must leave this difficulty to
Time, or the future inspirations of her own
ingenuity, for here is Hester's step upon the
stair.

And Hester must be welcomed now, wooed,
won over to have confidence and faith in her
benefactress. And accordingly there is a pretty
pleasant chamber prepared, gaily lighted, with
the rain shut out, where chocolate, and cakes,
and fruits are set forth to propitiate this child
of eighteen years. And, in truth, it seems to
Hester that some good fairy must have suddenly
taken her destiny in hand, when she sees Lady
Humphrey coming forth to meet her, with her
hand extended, and a smile upon her seldom-
smiling face.

"I think it will be too rainy to go to London
in the morning," said Lady Humphrey, and she
took off Hester's dripping bonnet, and tapped
her on her wet rosy cheeks, and dared to look
playfully in her wondering eyes.

"Yes, Lady Humphrey," said Hester; " at
least, if you wish me to stay."

"And I do wish you to stay, you little
sceptic!" said Lady Humphrey. "Why else