y, Rachel counted heads. Her mission exceeded her
expectations. Here was a pair of boys in knickerbockers, a pair in
petticoats, a pair in pelisses, besides the thing in arms. When the fly
had been nearly crammed, the two knickerbockers and one pelisse remained
for the carriage, quite against Rachel's opinion, but "Little Wilfred
can sit on my lap, he has not been well, poor little man," was quite
conclusive; and when Rachel suggested lying back to rest, there was a
sweet, low laugh, and, "Oh, no thank you, Wilfred never tires me."

Rachel's first satisfaction was in seeing the veil disclose the face of
eight years back, the same soft, clear, olive skin, delicate, oval face,
and pretty deep-brown eyes, with the same imploring, earnest sweetness;
no signs of having grown older, no sign of wear and tear, climate, or
exertion, only the widow's dress and the presence of the great boys
enhancing her soft youthfulness. The smile was certainly changed; it was
graver, sadder, tenderer, and only conjured up by maternal affection or
in grateful reply, and the blitheness of the young brow had changed to
quiet pensiveness, but more than ever there was an air of dependence
almost beseeching protection, and Rachel's heart throbbed with
Britomart's devotion to her Amoret.

"Why wouldn't the Major come, mamma?"

"He will soon come, I hope, my dear."

Those few words gave Rachel a strong antipathy to the Major.

Then began a conversation under difficulties, Fanny trying to inquire
after her aunt, and Rachel to detail the arrangements made for her at
Myrtlewood, while the two boys were each accommodated with a window;
but each moment they were claiming their mother's attention, or rushing
across the ladies' feet to each other's window, treating Rachel's knees
as a pivot, and vouchsafing not the slightest heed to her attempts at
intelligent pointing out of the new scenes.

And Fanny made no apology, but seemed pleased, ready with answers and
with eyes, apparently ignorant that Rachel's toes were less insensible
than her own, and her heavy three-years-old Wilfred asleep on her lap
all the time.

"She feeble, helpless, sickly!" thought Rachel, "I should have been less
tired had I walked the twenty miles!"

She gave up talking in despair, and by the time the young gentlemen had
tired themselves into quiescence, and began to eat the provisions, both
ladies were glad to be allowed a little silence.

Coming over the last hill, Conrade