ures of the windows, or beaming against the painted ceiling.

The cabinets and wardrobe, and grotesque tables and chairs, all of
black oak, and, above all, the great oak bedstead with its curiously
twisted pillars and heavy silk damask curtains--each projected
separate shadows and filled Fay's mind with dismay, while from the
paneled walls the childish figure was reflected in dim old mirrors.

"Oh, dear," sighed the little bride, "I shall never dare to be by
myself in this room. Janet, you must never leave me; look how those
shadows move."

"It is not quite canny, my lady," replied Janet, glancing behind her
at her mistress's word, "but I think I can mend matters a little;" and
so saying, she touched the logs so smartly that they spluttered and
emitted showers of sparks, till the whole room gleamed warm and ruddy
with reflected brightness.

"That is better, Janet," cried Fay, delightedly; "but where are you
going, Mrs. Heron?" for the housekeeper was making mysterious signs
that her lady should follow her to a curtained recess; "indeed," she
continued, wearily, "I am very tired, and would rather see nothing
more."

"Don't be too sure of that, my lady," returned Mrs. Heron, smiling,
and her tone made Fay follow her at once. But the next moment she
uttered a little scream of delight, for there, hidden away behind the
ruby curtains, was a tiny room--"a wee blue-lined nestie" fitted up as
a boudoir or morning-room. The bow-window promised plenty of light, a
cheerful modern paper covered the wall, with one or two choice
landscapes; the snowy rug; the soft luxurious couch and low
easy-chairs, covered with delicate blue cretonne; the writing-tables,
and book-case, were all so suggestive of use and comfort. Two
love-birds nestled like green blossoms in their gilded cage, and a
white Persian kitten was purring before the fire.

"Oh, the dear room!" exclaimed Fay, in a perfect ecstasy, and then
oblivious of her dignity, her fatigue, and the presence of the stately
housekeeper, Lady Redmond sat down on the soft white rug, and lifted
the kitten on her lap.

"I had a Persian kitten once," she observed, innocently; "but I took
her down to the cowslip meadow and lost her. We called her the White
Witch, she was so pretty and so full of mischief. I made myself quite
ill crying over her loss, we were so afraid she was killed," and here
Fay buried her face in the little creature's fur, as she rocked
herself to and fro in the fire