e centre; a few chairs, some swinging shelves filled with
books, and a couch or lounge covered with pink and white chintz,
whereon lay a pillow with a freshly ironed linen case, whose ruffled
edges were crisply fluted.

Upon the whitewashed hearth were several earthen pots, filled with
odorous geraniums; and over the two windows that opened on a narrow
border of ground between the house wall and the street were carefully
trained a solanum jasminoides white with waxen stars, and an
abutilor, whose orange bells striped and veined with scarlet, swung
in every breath of air that fluttered the spotless white cotton
curtains, so daintily trimmed with a calico border of rose-coloured
convolvulus. In the morning when the sun shone hot upon the front of
the building, this room was very bright and cheerful, but its
afternoon aspect was dim, cool, shadowy. A gentle breeze now floated
across a bunch of claret-hued carnations growing in a wooden box on
the window-sill, which was on a level with the ground outside, and
brought on its waves that subtle spiciness that dwells only in the
deep heart of pinks.

In an old-fashioned maplewood rocking chair sat Mrs. Mason, with her
wasted and almost transparent hands resting on her open Bible. The
faded face which in early years had boasted of unusual comeliness,
bore traces of severe sorrows meekly borne; and the patient sweetness
that sat on the lip, and smiled serenely in the mild grey eyes,
invested it with that irresistible charm that occasionally renders
ripe old age more attractive than flushing dimpled youth. Her hair,
originally pale brown, was as snow-white as the tarlatan cap that now
framed it in a crimped border; and her lustreless black dress was
relieved at the neck and wrists by ruffles of the same material.

On the Bible lay her spectacles, and upon the third finger of the
left hand was a gold ring, worn so thin that it was a mere glittering
thread.

Near her sat Regina, playing with a large white and yellow cat that
now and then sprang to catch a spray of lemon-scented geranium, which
was swung teasingly just beyond the reach of her velvet paws.

"I am glad, my dear, to hear you speak so kindly of the members of
your guardian's family. I have never yet seen that person who had not
some redeeming trait. Many years ago, I knew Louise Neville very
well. She was then the handsome happy bride of a young naval officer,
who was soon after drowned in the Bay of Biscay; before