ighly prized, and became her constant
companion in her woodland rambles in search of health and wild flowers.
With all the vanity of a conscious favorite, Nestor regarded with well
bred contempt the hounds that stalked in couples about the yard, in
anxious readiness for the next chase.

As the young girl was thus engaged, there was an air of sadness in her
whole mien--such a stranger to her usually bright, happy face, that it
did not escape her father's notice.

"Why, Jeanie," he said, in the tender manner which he always used
towards her, "you are strangely silent this evening. Has anything gone
wrong with my little daughter?"

"No, father," she replied, "at least nothing that I am conscious of. We
cannot be always gay or sad at our pleasure, you know."

"Nay, but at least," said the old gentleman, "Nestor has been
disobedient, or old Giles is sick, or you have been working yourself
into a sentimental sadness over Lady Willoughby's[3] troubles."

"No, dear father; though, in reality, that melancholy story might well
move a stouter heart than mine."

"Well, confess then," said her father, "that, like the young French
gentleman in Prince Arthur's days, you are sad as night only for
wantonness. But what say you, mother, has anything gone wrong in
household affairs to cross Virginia?"

"No, Mr. Temple," said the old lady. "Certainly, if Virginia is cast
down at the little she has to do, I don't know what ought to become of
me. But that's a matter of little consequence. Old people have had their
day, and needn't expect much sympathy."

"Indeed, dear mother," said Virginia, "I do not complain of anything
that I have to do. I know that you do not entrust as much to me as you
ought, or as I wish. I assure you, that if anything has made me sad, it
is not you, dear mother," she added, as she tenderly kissed her mother.

"Oh, I know that, my dear; but your father seems to delight in always
charging me with whatever goes wrong. Goodness knows, I toil from Monday
morning till Saturday night for you all, and this is all the thanks I
get. And if I were to work my old fingers to the bone, it would be all
the same. Well, it won't last always."

To this assault Colonel Temple knew the best plan was not to reply. He
had learned from sad experience the truth of the old adages, that
"breath makes fire hotter," and that "the least said is soonest mended."
He only signified his consciousness of what had been said by a quiet
shrug