ing but to make puddings or stitch samplers. Why wasn't I a man, I
say? George was reading to us yesterday out of Tasso--look, here it is,
and I thought the verses applied to me. See! Here is the book, with the
mark in it where we left off."

"With the mark in it?" says Harry dutifully.

"Yes! it is about a woman who is disappointed because--because her
brother does not go to war, and she says of herself--

"'Alas! why did not Heaven these members frail
With lively force and vigour strengthen, so
That I this silken gown...'"

"Silken gown?" says downright Harry, with a look of inquiry.

"Well, sir, I know 'tis but Calimanco;--but so it is in the book--

"'... this silken gown and slender veil
Might for a breastplate and a helm forgo;
Then should not heat, nor cold, nor rain, nor hail,
Nor storms that fall, nor blust'ring winds that blow,
Withhold me; but I would, both day and night,
In pitched field or private combat, fight--'

"Fight? Yes, that I would! Why are both my brothers to be parsons, I
say? One of my papa's children ought to be a soldier!"

Harry laughed, a very gentle, kind laugh, as he looked at her. He felt
that he would not like much to hit such a tender little warrior as that.

"Why," says he, holding a finger out, "I think here is a finger nigh as
big as your arm. How would you stand up before a great, strong man? I
should like to see a man try and injure you, though; I should just like
to see him! You little, delicate, tender creature! Do you suppose any
scoundrel would dare to do anything unkind to you?" And, excited by this
flight of his imagination, Harry fell to walking up and down the room,
too, chafing at the idea of any rogue of a Frenchman daring to be rude
to Miss Hester Lambert.

It was a belief in this silent courage of his which subjugated Hetty,
and this quality which she supposed him to possess, which caused her
specially to admire him. Miss Hetty was no more bold, in reality, than
Madam Erminia, whose speech she had been reading out of the book, and
about whom Mr. Harry Warrington never heard one single word. He may have
been in the room when brother George was reading his poetry out to the
ladies, but his thoughts were busy with his own affairs, and he was
entirely bewildered with your Clotildas and Erminias, and giants, and
enchanters, and nonsense. No, Miss Hetty, I say and believe, had nothing
of the virago in her compo