vicarage, whether as a mark of politeness to us, or to
show that, though she never entered a church, she still chose to lend
her countenance and approval to the Establishment, or whether merely out
of old use and habit, I knew not. I only knew that she came, and that
until now it had never fallen to my lot to be present upon any of those
momentous occasions.

Feeling it a little hard that my coveted solitude should thus be
interrupted, and not quite knowing what to say to her, I sat down and
there was a moment's pause.

"Is your mother well?" she inquired.

"Yes, thank you, very well. She has gone with my sister to Darton."

"Your father?"

"He is well too, thank you. He has a funeral this afternoon."

"I think you have two sisters, have you not?"

"Yes; Adelaide and Stella."

"And which are you?"

"May; I am the second one."

All her questions were put in an almost severe tone, and not as if she
took very much interest in me or mine. I felt my timidity increase, and
yet--I liked her. Yes, I felt most distinctly that I liked her.

"May," she remarked, meditatively; "May Wedderburn. Are you aware that
you have a very pretty north-country sounding name?"

"I have not thought about it."

"How old are you?"

"I am a little over seventeen."

"Ah! And what do you do all day?"

"Oh!" I began, doubtfully, "not much, I am afraid, that is useful or
valuable."

"You are young enough yet. Don't begin to do things with a purpose for
some time to come. Be happy while you can."

"I am not at all happy," I replied, not thinking of what I was saying,
and then feeling that I could have bitten my tongue out with vexation.
What could it possibly matter to Miss Hallam whether I were happy or
not? She was asking me all these questions to pass the time, and in
order to talk about something while she sat in our house.

"What makes you unhappy? Are your sisters disagreeable?"

"Oh, no!"

"Are your parents unkind?"

"Unkind!" I echoed, thinking what a very extraordinary woman she was and
wondering what kind of experience hers could have been in the past.

"Then I can not imagine what cause for unhappiness you can have," she
said, composedly.

I made no answer. I repented me of having uttered the words, and Miss
Hallam went on:

"I should advise you to forget that there is such a thing as
unhappiness. You will soon succeed."

"Yes--I will try," said I, in a low voice, as the cause of my
unhappiness rose up, ga