glad of it.' I cannot make him out; he must be a relation, or one of the other officers. Violet did not know he was there, and came in with the baby in her arms; he stepped towards her, saying, 'So you have set up another! Man or woman?' and then asked if she was another flower. Violet coloured, as she spoke low, and said, 'Her name is Helen.' I must ask Violet the meaning, for he looked gravely pleased, and answered gratefully, 'That is very good of you.' 'I hope she will deserve it,' Violet said, and was introducing me, but he said Johnnie had done him that honour. He has been talking of Captain Martindale (calling him Arthur), and telling curious things he has seen in Ireland. He is very amusing, bluff, and odd, but as if he was a distinguished person. Now I see that Violet is altered, and grown older--he seems to have such respect for, and confidence in her; and she so womanly and self- possessed, entering into his clever talk as Matilda would, yet in the simple way she always had. You would be proud to see her now--her manners must be perfection, I should think; so graceful and dignified, so engaging and quiet. I wish Louisa had seen her. What are they talking of now?
'Violet.--How did you find Pallas Athene?
'Unknown.--Alas, poor Pallas! With the judgment of the cockney who buttered his horse's hay, the ragged boy skinned her mice and plucked her sparrows in my absence. The consequence was her untimely end. I was met by my landlady with many a melancholy 'Ah, sir!' and actually the good creature had had her stuffed.
'Violet.--Poor Pallas! then the poor boy has lost his employment?
'Unknown.--Happily, his honesty and his grief so worked upon my landlady, that she has taken him as an errand boy. So that, in fact, Minerva may be considered to have been the making of his fortune.
'I leave this for a riddle for the sisters. I am longing to ask Violet who this gentleman is who seems to know all the negroes so well.' (Scratched out.) 'What nonsense I have written! I was listening to some letters they were reading from the Mr. Martindale in the West Indies. Violet tells me to finish with her dearest love.
'Your most affectionate,
'A. Moss.
'P.S.--He will come to-morrow to take us to a private view of the Royal Academy, before the pictures are removed.'
The same post carried a letter from Violet to her husband, communicating the arrival of her guests, and telling him she knew that he could not wish her not to have Annette with her for these few days, and that it did make her very happy.
Having done this, she dismissed doubts, and, with a clear conscience, gave herself up to the enjoyment of her sister's visit, each minute of which seemed of diamond worth. Perhaps the delights were the more intense from compression; but it was a precious reprieve when Arthur's answer came, rejoicing at Violet's having a companion, and hoping that she would keep her till his return, which he should not scruple to defer, since she was so well provided for. He had just been deliberating whether he could accept an invitation to the Highlands.
If the wife was less charmed than her sister, she knew that, under any circumstances, she would have had to consent, after the compliment had been paid of asking whether she could spare him; and it was compensation enough that he should have voluntarily extended her sister's visit.
Annette, formerly the leader of her younger sister, was often pleasantly surprised to find her little Violet become like her elder, and that not only from situation, but in mind. With face and figure resembling Violet's, but of a less uncommon order, without the beauteous complexion and the natural grace, now enhanced by living in the best society, Annette was a very nice-looking, lady-like girl, of the same refined tone of mind and manners; and having had a longer space of young ladyhood, she had more cultivation in accomplishments and book knowledge, her good taste saving her from being spoilt, even by her acquiescence in Matilda's superiority. She saw, however, that Violet had more practical reflection, and though in many points simple and youthful, was more of a woman than herself; and it was with that sweet, innocent feeling, which ought not to bear the same name as pride, that she exulted in the superiority of her beloved sister. Selfish jealousies or petty vanities were far from her; it was like a romance to hear Violet describe the splendours of Martindale, or the gaieties of London; and laugh over the confession of the little perplexities as to proprieties, and the mistakes and surprises, which she trusted she had not betrayed.
Still Violet missed the power of fully reciprocating her sister's confidence. Annette laid open every home interest and thought, but Violet had no right to disclose the subjects that had of late engrossed her, and at every turn found a separation, something on which she must not be communicative.
The view of the Exhibition was happily performed under Mr. Fotheringham's escort. Annette, thanks to Lord St. Erme's gallery, had good taste in pictures; she drew well, and understood art better than her sister, who rejoiced in bringing out her knowledge, and hearing her converse with Percy. They had the rooms to themselves, and Annette was anxious to carry away the outline of one or two noted pictures. While she was sketching, Percy wandered to another part of the room, and stood fixedly before a picture. Violet came to see what he was looking at. It was a fine one by Landseer of a tiger submitting to the hand of the keeper, with cat-like complacency, but the glare of the eye and curl of the tail manifesting that its gentleness was temporary.
'It may be the grander animal,' muttered he; 'but less satisfactory for domestic purposes.'
'What did you say?' asked Violet, thinking it addressed to her.
'That is a presumptuous man,' he said, pointing to the keeper. 'If he trusts in the creature's affection, some day he will find his mistake.'
He flung himself round, as if he had done with the subject, and his tone startled Violet, and showed her that more was meant than met the ear. She longed to tell him that the creature was taming itself, but she did not dare, and he went back to talk to Annette, till it ended in his promising to come to-morrow, to take them to the Ellesmere gallery.
'That's the right style of woman,' soliloquized Percy, as he saw the carriage drive off. 'Gentleness, meekness, and a dash of good sense, is the recipe for a rational female--otherwise she is a blunder of nature. The same stamp as her sister, I see; nothing wanting, but air and the beauty, which, luckily for Arthur, served for his bait.'
When he came, according to appointment, Annette was in the drawing- room, unable to desist from touching and retouching her copy of her nephew's likeness, though Violet had long ago warned her to put it away, and to follow her up to dress.
He carried the portrait to the light. 'M. Piper,' he read. 'That little woman! That mouth is in better drawing than I could have thought her guilty of.'
'Oh! those are Lord St. Erme's touches,' said unconscious Annette. 'He met Miss Martindale taking it to be framed, and he improved it wonderfully. He certainly understood the little face, for he even wrote verses on it.'
Here Violet entered, and Annette had to hurry away for her bonnet. Percy stood looking at the drawing.
'So, Johnnie has a new admirer,' he said. Violet was sorry that he should hear of this; but she laughed, and tried to make light of it.
'I hear he is in Germany.'
'Yes; with his sister and their aunt.'
'Well,' said Percy, 'it may do. There will be no collision of will, and while there is one to submit, there is peace. A tigress can be generous to a puppy dog.'
'But, indeed, I do not think it likely.'
'If she is torturing him, that is worse.'
Violet raised her eyes pleadingly, and said, in a low, mournful tone: 'I do not like to hear you speak so bitterly.'
'No,' he said, 'it is not bitterness. That is over. I am thankful to have broken loose, and to be able to look back on it calmly, as a past delusion. Great qualities ill regulated are fearful things; and though I believe trials will in time teach her to bring her religious principle to bear on her faults, I see that it was an egregious error to think that she could be led.'
He spoke quietly, but Violet could not divest herself of the impression that there was more acute personal feeling than he was aware of. In the Ellesmere gallery, he led them to that little picture of Paul Potter's, where the pollard willows stand up against the sunset sky, the evening sunshine gleaming on their trunks, upon the grass, and gilding the backs of the cows, while the placid old couple look on at the milking, the hooded lady shading her face with her fan.
'There's my notion of felicity,' said he.
'Rather a Dutch notion,' said Violet.
'Don't despise the Dutch,' said Percy. 'Depend upon it, that respectable retired burgomaster and his vrow never
