cted.

'It is worth all the gardens at Martindale.'

'To be sure it is,' said Emma, indignantly.

'It puts me in mind of St. Cross.'

'But St. Cross is alive, not a ruin,' said Emma, with a sigh, and she
asked many questions about it, while showing Violet the chief points of
interest, where the different buildings had been, and the tomb of
Osyth, the last prioress. Her whole manner surprised Violet, there was a
reverence as if they were actually within a church, and more melancholy
than pleasure in the possession of what, nevertheless, the young heiress
evidently loved with all her heart.

Turning away at length, they crossed the park, and passed through the
garden, which was gay with flowers, though much less magnificent than
Mr. Harrison's. Emma said, mamma was a great gardener, and accordingly
they found her cutting off flowers past their prime. She gave Violet a
bouquet of geranium and heliotrope, and conducted her to her room with
that motherly kindness and solicitude so comfortable to a lonely guest
in a strange house.

Not that the house could long seem strange to Violet. It was an
atmosphere of ease, where she could move and speak without feeling on
her good behaviour. Everything throughout was on an unpretending scale,
full of comfort, and without display, with a regularity and punctuality
that gave a feeling of repose.

Violet was much happier than she had thought possible without Arthur,
though her pleasures were not such as to make a figure in history. There
were talks and walks, drives and visits to the school, readings and
discussions, and the being perfectly at home and caressed by mother
and daughter. Lady Elizabeth had all the qualities that are better than
intellect, and enough of that to enter into the pursuits of cleverer
people. Emma had more ability, and so much enthusiasm, that it was well
that it was chastened by her mother's sound sense, as well as kept under
by her own timidity.

It was not till Violet was on the point of departure that she knew the
secret of Emma's heart. The last Sunday evening before Arthur was to
fetch her away, she begged to walk once more to the Priory, and have
another look at it. 'I think,' said she, 'it will stay in my mind like
Helvellyn in the distance.'

Emma smiled, and soon they stood in the mellow light of the setting sun,
beside the ruin. 'How strange,' said Violet, 'to think that it is three
hundred years since Sunday came to this chapel.'

'I wond