those ladies in hawf-mawning yet, ah?"

Brute! I could have kicked him; and I wonder now that I didn't!

CHAPTER THREE.

M'APPARI.

"She's coming, my own, my sweet!
Had she never so airy a tread,
My heart would hear her, and beat,
Were it earth in an earthy bed!"

It was now November, as I have already said; and a very dull, dismal,
desolate November it was--more so, even, than usual. Fogs were
frequent, rain regular, and the sun singular in his appearance. It was
enough to make one feel miserable, without the haunting thoughts that
affected me; so, before the weather became too much for me and turned me
insane, I determined to go abroad for a short time to try what change of
air and scene could do towards relaxing my mind, although nothing could
banish the remembrance of _her_ from my heart.

When I came back to England, it was close on Christmas, and Christmas,
you must know, was always a busy and stirring time with us in our
suburb, especially so, too, for its younger and prettier parishioners.

Then the church had to be decorated--a matter not to be trifled with.
Commencing about a week or ten days before the festival, these young
ladies would gather themselves together in the old school-room, which
was a detached building, situated a short distance from Saint Canon's.

Here, the scholars being dismissed for their long holidays, they would
change the look of the academic apartment into that of a miniature
Covent Garden market or greengrocer's shop, filling it up with heaps of
evergreens--holly and ivy and yew, ad libitum, to be transformed by the
aid of their nimble fingers into all sorts of floral decorations.
Garlands were woven, elaborate illuminated texts and scrolls painted,
and wondrous crosses of commingled laurel leaves and holly berries
contrived; all of which went so far to change the aspect of the old
church, that those well acquainted with it could not help wondering
within themselves, if, indeed, it was really so _very_ old and ancient
after all as learned archaeologists said; while new comers, who only saw
it in its festal trim, had serious doubts as to whether they were not in
a ritualistic edifice--the vicar allowing the girls to have their own
way and import as much natural ornament as they pleased. The flowers
and shrubs were God's handiwork, he said, so why should they not be used
in God's service, to do honour to "the Giver of the feast?"

This year was no exception to