reproduction in coloured wool of a German engraving of the last scene
of _Romeo and Juliet_. There was a pea-green Capulet paralytically
embracing a sky-blue Montague in the foreground, with a dissolving view
of impossibly-constructed servitors of both houses and the County Paris,
with six strongly accented bridges to his nose and a worsted tear upon
his cheek, in the background. Under this production was worked in white,
upon a black ground, the legend which Mrs. Rusker mournfully repeated as
she gazed on it--

'For never was a story of more woe,
Than this of Juliet and her Romeo';

and as she spoke the words an inspiration flashed into her mind. She had
her plan.

The new-born idea so possessed her that she could not sit or rest. It
drove her out, as the gad-fly drove lo, to devious wanderings in the
neighbouring lanes, and as she walked and walked, finding some little
ease in the unusual and incessant exercise, she drew nearer and nearer
to the Mountain Farm. As she paused on a little eminence and looked
towards it, the distant church bell struck clear across the intervening
fields, proclaiming nine o'clock.

'Thank the Lord,' said the old woman. 'I can go now. I dussent go too
early. They might suspect.'

She made straight for the house, and found Mrs. Mountain alone. Samson
was afield, and in answer to Mrs. Busker's inquiries regarding Julia,
Mrs. Mountain tearfully informed her that the poor girl was too ill to
come downstairs, and had not eaten a crumb of the tempting breakfast
prepared and sent to her room for her. Mrs. Mountain was voluble in
condemnation of her husband's lack of wit in his announcement of the
matrimonial scheme he had formed for the girl, and Mrs. Jenny was fluent
and honest in sympathy. Might she see the girl? Julia was fond of her,
and her counsels might bring some comfort. Mrs. Mountain yielded a ready
assent, and the old lady went up to the girl's room, and entering on
the languid summons which followed her knock, saw Julia seated at the
window, listless, dejected, and tearful The tears flowed even more
freely at the sight of her, and the girl sobbed on her old friend's
breast in full abandonment to the first great grief of her life.

'My dear,' said Mrs. Jenny, when this gush of sorrow was over, 'take a
bit o' heart. Things is rarely as bad as they seem; an' there's help at
hand always if we on'y know where to look for it.'

There was more meaning, to Julia's thinking,