ved
any answer or news of the cure until a year ago, when a friar from Quebec
had come to Scotland on a visit, and had brought a letter of introduction
from the cure of Father Point to McAllister. The letter consisted only of
a few short lines. Noel had often questioned his mother about Marie
Gourdon, but on this subject the old lady was silent,--it is so easy to
leave questions unanswered in letters.

"Margaret," Noel called out suddenly, rousing himself from his
meditations, "I am going out now, and I shall not be back till five
o'clock. I am going to ride up the Glen."

"Very well, but remember to be back in time to dress for dinner. Last
time we were invited to the Severn's you were half an hour late, and
Lady Severn has not forgiven you yet."

"Oh! all right. I shall be strictly on time this evening, and trust to
make my peace with the old lady. Au revoir."

CHAPTER IX.

"Alas! our memories may retrace
Each circumstance of time and place;
Season and scene come back again,
And outward things unchanged remain:
The rest we cannot reinstate;
Ourselves we cannot re-create,
Nor get our souls to the same key
Of the remember'd harmony."

Longfellow.

The dinner party at Mount Severn this evening was an undoubted success,
as were most of Lady Severn's entertainments, for she possessed to a
great degree that invaluable gift of a hostess--the art of allowing
people to entertain themselves. And, added to the charm of her manner,
and her undoubted tact in bringing the right people together, Lady
Severn had all the accessories to make a dinner party go off well. The
large dining-room was a long, low, octagonal apartment, with a small
conservatory opening out at the lower end. There were numerous small
alcoves in the wall, and in the recesses of each of these were huge pots
of maidenhair fern.

All along the oak-panelled walls at short intervals were placed
old-fashioned brass sconces with candles in them, which shed a clear
though subdued light on the dinner table and the faces of the guests,
and brought into prominence the bright hues of the ladies' gowns and
the sparkling crystal and silver on the dinner table.

At the head of the table sat Lord Severn, a hale, hearty old gentleman
of seventy. He was devoted to fox-hunting, and always ready to get up
at five o'clock in the morning when a good run was in prospect. His wife
sat opposite him. She was a beautiful old lady, her face