her wraps, and pleasant voices welcomed
her and congratulated her on her escape.

"Ay, ay, Mary," said her host, addressing
his wife. "I told you that the sleigh would
have plenty of work this winter, and you see
I was right."

"As you always are, uncle," a merry voice
exclaimed. "We all say at Hawtree that
Uncle Atherton never can be wrong."

"Atherton! Hawtree!" repeated Miss Stirling
in some amazement, "and uttered in that
familiar voice! Ellen, Ellen Middleton, is it
possible that you are here?"

A joyful exclamation and a rush into her
arms were the young girl's ready reply to
this question as she cried, "Uncle Atherton,
Aunt Mary, don't you know your old friend
Miss Stirling?"

Mrs. Atherton fixed her soft blue eyes on
the stranger, in whom she could at first
scarcely recognise the bright-haired girl
whom she had not seen for eighteen or
twenty years; but by and by, she satisfied
herself that, though changed, she was Ellen
Stirling still, with the same sunny smile and
the same laughing eyes that had made every
one love her in their school days. Heartfelt
indeed were the greetings which followed,
and cordial the welcome Mrs. Atherton gave
her old friend as she congratulated herself
on having dear Ellen under her own roof:
more especially as she owed this good fortune
to Mr. Atherton's exertions in rescuing her.

"It is the merest chance, too, that he is at
home at present," she said; "he ought to
have been in Scotland, but the state of the
roads in this bleak country has kept him
prisoner here for weeks."

"And others as well," Ellen Middleton
added; "but both children and grown people
are only too thankful to have so good an
excuse for staying longer at Belfield." And
then, laughing, she asked Aunt Mary how
she meant to dispose of Miss Stirling for the
night, for the house was as full already as it
could hold.

"Oh," said her aunt, "we shall manage
very well. Belfield is very elastic."

She smiled as she spoke; but it struck
Miss Stirling that the question was,
nevertheless, a puzzling one, so she took the first
opportunity of entreating her to take no
trouble on her account; a chair by the fire
was really all the accommodation she cared
for, as she wished to be in readiness to pursue
her journey as soon as the coach could
proceed.

"We shall be able to do better for you than
that, Ellen," Mrs. Atherton answered cheerfully.
''I cannot, it is true, promise you a
'state-room,' for every bed in the house is
full, and I know you will not allow any one
to be moved for your convenience; but I
have one chamber still at your service which,
except in one respect, is comfortable enough."

"Haunted, of course?" said Miss Stirling
gaily.

"Oh, no, no, it is not that! I had it fitted
up for my brother William when he used to
be here more frequently than of late, and it is
often occupied by gentlemen when the house
is full; but, as it is detached from the house,
I have, of course, never asked any lady to
sleep there till now."

"Oh! if that be all, I am quite willing to
become its first lady tenant," said Miss
Stirling heartily. So the matter was settled,
and orders were given to prepare the Pavilion
for the unexpected guest.

The evening passed pleasantly; music,
dancing, and ghost stories made the hours
fly fast. It was long past ten—the usual hour
of retiring at Belfield—when Miss Stirling,
under her hostess's guidance, took possession
of her out-door chamber. It really was a
pleasant cheerful little apartment. The crimson
hangings of the bed and window looked warm
and comfortable in the flashing fire-light; and
when the candles on the mantelpiece were
lighted, and the two easy chairs drawn close
to the hearth, the long-parted friends found
it impossible to resist the temptation of
sitting down to have, what in old days they
used to call a "two-handed chat." There
was much to tell of what had befallen both,
of chequered scenes of joy and sorrow, deeply
interesting to those two whose youth had been
passed together; there were mutual recollections
of school-days to be talked over; mutual
friends and future plans to be discussed; and
midnight rung out from the stable-clock
before Mrs. Atherton said good-night. She
had already crossed the threshhold to go,
when she turned back to say, "I forgot to
tell you, Ellen, that the inside bar of this
door is not very secure, and that the key
only turns outside. Are you inclined to trust
to the bar alone, or will you, as William
used to do, have the door locked outside, and
let the servant bring the key in the morning?
William used to say that he found it rather
an advantage to do so, as the unlocking of
the door was sure to awake him.

Miss Stirling laughingly allowed, that
though, generally, she could not quite think
it an advantage to be locked into her room,
still she had no objection to it on this
particular occasion, as she wished to rise in
reasonable time.

"Very well; then, you had better not fasten
the bar at all, and I will send my maid with
the key, at eight precisely. Good night."

"Good night."

They parted; the door was locked outside;
the key taken out; and Miss Stirling, standing
by the window, watched her friend cross the
narrow black path, which had been swept
clear of snow to make a dry passage from
the house to the pavilion. A ruddy light
streamed from the hall door as it opened
to admit its mistress, and gave a cheerful
friendly aspect to the scene; but, when the
door closed and shut out that warm
comfortable light, the darkened porch, the pale