y, for she was quite young. She wished they could go in
summer 'down the water,' out of this din and dust, to some coast village
or lonely loch between lofty purple mountains, such as she had seen when
with Mrs. Elliot; papa might spare a few weeks, people no richer did;
they had no holidays, and it was so hot and close, and always the same.
But she supposed she must be contented, and would go away to cool and
compose herself in the crypt of their own cathedral. How grand it was;
how solemn the aisles and arches on every side, like forest trees; and
then the monuments--what stories she invented for them! St. Mungo's
Well! St. Mungo, austere, yet beneficent; with bare feet, cowled head,
scarred back, and hardest of all, swept and garnished heart, with his
fruitful blessing, 'Let Glasgow flourish.' What would St. Mungo think
now of the city of the tree, the fish, and the bell?

This hoar, venerable, beautiful feat of art was to the imprisoned
Glasgow girl as St. Paul's to such another isolated imaginative nature.

There was a knock at the street-door; a very decided application of the
queer, twisted knocker. Leslie roused herself: not a beggar's tap that;
none of the janitors; and this was not Dr. Murdoch's or Dr. Ware's hour:
the girl was accurate in taps and footsteps. Some one was shown in; a
man's voice was heard greeting "Dr. Bower," before the study door was
closed. Leslie started up with pleased surprise,--"Hector Garret of
Otter! he will come upstairs to see us; he will tell us how the country
is looking; he will bring news from Ferndean," and for the next hour she
sat in happy, patient expectation.

Mrs. Bower, a fair, faded, grave woman, came into the room, and sat down
with her needlework in the other window.

"Mamma," exclaimed Leslie, "do you know that Hector Garret of Otter is
downstairs with papa?"

"Yes, Leslie."

"He never fails to ask for us; don't you think we'll see him here
by-and-by?"

"I do not know; it depends upon his engagements."

"I wonder what brings him to Glasgow just now; he must find it so much
more agreeable at home," with a little sigh.

"Leslie, I don't think you have anything to do with that."

"No, certainly; Hector Garret and I are two very different persons."

"Leslie!"

"Well, mamma."

"I wish you would not say Hector Garret; it does not sound proper in a
girl like you."

"I suppose it does not. He must have been a grown-up man when I was a
child. I have caught th