she said that you were in the drawing-room.'

I told Miss Hamilton of Lady Betty's visit, and she laughed quite
merrily.

'Good little Betty! She is always trying to give me pleasure. She wanted
to stay with me herself, only Etta said it was no use for two people to
stop away from church. They have all gone, even Thornton and Leah. I
believe only Parker and Chatty are in the house.'

'Is Chatty the housemaid?'

'No, the under-housemaid; but Catherine's father is ill, so she has gone
to nurse him--'

'And Leah--who is Leah? I mean what is her capacity in the household?'
as Miss Hamilton looked rather surprised at my question.

'She used to be Aunt Margaret's attendant, and now she is Etta's
maid,--at least, we call her so,--but she makes herself useful in many
ways. She is rather a superior person, and well educated, but I like
Chatty to wait on me best; she is such a simple, honest little soul.
I know people say servants have not much feeling, but I am sure Chatty
would do anything for me and Lady Betty.'

'And you think Leah would not?' I asked, rather stupidly.

'I did not say so, did I?' she answered quickly. 'We always look upon
Leah as Etta's servant. She was devoted to her old mistress, and of
course that makes Etta care for her so much. To me she is not a pleasant
person. Etta has spoiled her, and she gives herself airs, and takes too
much upon herself. Do you know'--with an amused smile--'Lady Betty and I
think that Etta is rather afraid of her? She never ventures to find fault
with her, and once or twice Lady Betty has heard Leah scolding Etta when
something has put her out. I should not care to be scolded by my maid:
should you, Miss Garston?'

'No,' I returned, rather absently, for, unperceived by Miss Hamilton, my
attention was arrested by the photograph. It was the portrait of a young
man, and something in the face seemed familiar to me.

The next moment I was caught. A distressed look crossed Miss Hamilton's
face, and she made a sudden movement, as though she would close the
photograph; but on second thoughts she handed it to me.

'Should you like to see it more closely? It is a photograph of my
twin-brother, Eric. They think--yes, they are afraid that he is dead.'

Her lips had turned quite white as she spoke, and in my surprise, for
I never knew there had been another brother, I did not answer, but only
bent over the picture.

It was the face of a young man about nineteen or twenty,--a bea