azed tenderly on Mr. Montfort; that
gentleman returned her gaze with one of steady gravity.

"I shall be glad to have a visit from you, Sophronia," he said. "I have
no doubt we can make you comfortable for a few weeks; I can hardly
suppose that William can spare you longer than that. We have no children
here to need your--your ministrations."

The lady shook her head playfully; she had thin curls of a grayish
yellow, which almost rattled when she shook her head.

"Always self-denying, John!" she cried. "The same unselfish, good,
sterling fellow! But I understand, my friend; I know how it really is,
and I shall do my duty, and stand by you; depend upon that! And this
dear child, too!" she added, turning to Margaret and taking her hand
affectionately. "So young, so unexperienced! and to be attempting the
care of a house like Fernley! How could you think of it, John? But we
will make that all right. I shall be--we can hardly say a mother, can
we, my dear? but an elder sister, to you, too. Oh, we shall be very
happy, I am sure. The drawing-room carpets are looking very shabby,
John. I am ready to go over the dear old house from top to bottom, and
make it over new; of course you did not feel like making any changes
while dear Aunt Faith was with you. Such a mistake, I always say, to
shake the aged out of their ruts. Yes! so wise of you! and who is in the
neighbourhood, John?"

"I hardly know," said Mr. Montfort. "You know I live rather a hermit
life, Sophronia. Mrs. Peyton is here; I believe you are fond of her."

"Sweet Emily Peyton!" exclaimed Miss Sophronia, with enthusiasm. "Is
that exquisite creature here? That will indeed be a pleasure. Ah, John,
she should never have been Emily Peyton; you know my opinion on that
point." She nodded her head several times, with an air of mysterious
understanding. "And widowed, after all, and once more alone in the
world. How does she bear her sorrow, John?"

"I have not seen her," said Mr. Montfort, rather shortly. "From what I
hear, she seems to bear it with considerable fortitude. Perhaps you
forget that it is fully ten years since Mr. Peyton died, Sophronia. But
Margaret here can tell you more than I can about Mrs. Peyton; she goes
to see her now and then. Mrs. Peyton is something of an invalid, and
likes to have her come."

"Indeed!" cried Miss Sophronia. "I should hardly have fancied--Emily
Peyton was always so mature in her thought, so critical in her
observations; but no