l naturally upon Mrs. Mountain
and her little daughter, and worried and annoyed them. But women
bear with hard words more easily than men, are more ready to forgive
injuries, or, perhaps, to dissemble anger. Let us trust that Madam
Esmond's dependants found their life tolerable, that they gave her
ladyship sometimes as good as they got, that if they quarrelled in the
morning they were reconciled at night, and sate down to a tolerably
friendly game at cards and an amicable dish of tea.

But, without the boys, the great house of Castlewood was dreary to the
widow. She left an overseer there to manage her estates, and only paid
the place an occasional visit. She enlarged and beautified her house
in the pretty little city of Richmond, which began to grow daily in
importance. She had company there, and card-assemblies, and preachers in
plenty; and set up her little throne there, to which the gentlefolks of
the province were welcome to come and bow. All her domestic negroes,
who loved society as negroes will do, were delighted to exchange the
solitude of Castlewood for the gay and merry little town; where, for
a time, and while we pursue Harry Warrington's progress in Europe, we
leave the good lady.

CHAPTER XIV. Harry in England

When the famous Trojan wanderer narrated his escapes and adventures to
Queen Dido, her Majesty, as we read, took the very greatest interest
in the fascinating story-teller who told his perils so eloquently. A
history ensued, more pathetic than any of the previous occurrences in
the life of Pius Aeneas, and the poor princess had reason to rue the day
when she listened to that glib and dangerous orator. Harry Warrington
had not pious Aeneas's power of speech, and his elderly aunt, we may
presume, was by no means so soft-hearted as the sentimental Dido;
but yet the lad's narrative was touching, as he delivered it with his
artless eloquence and cordial voice; and more than once, in the course
of his story, Madam Bernstein found herself moved to a softness to which
she had very seldom before allowed herself to give way. There were not
many fountains in that desert of a life--not many sweet, refreshing
resting-places. It had been a long loneliness, for the most part, until
this friendly voice came and sounded in her ears and caused her heart to
beat with strange pangs of love and sympathy. She doted on this lad,
and on this sense of compassion and regard so new to her. Save once,
faintly, in ve