good-natured looking lady, who had brought her two little girls to pay their first visit from home. "In a house like this there is always something agreeable to be done; and then it is so pleasant for young people to be together. My children live in such retirement that it is an especial treat to them to have companions."

The two little girls clung more closely to their mother's side as she spoke, apparently thinking that the greatest treat at that moment would be to remain under her protection; but Dora led the way to the door, and they were obliged to follow, hand in hand, and casting imploring looks upon their mamma to persuade her to go with them. She half rose from her seat, but Mrs. Harrington stopped her. "You need not be uneasy, Mrs. Danvers," she said; "Dora will take great care of them."

"Oh! yes, of course, of course," repeated Mrs. Danvers; "but they are so shy, poor children: I should just like to see how they manage to go on amongst so many strangers."

"Certainly," replied Mrs. Harrington; "we will look in upon them by-and-by. Would you like to take a little walk before dinner, or should you prefer remaining in the house, as it is so cold?"

"I should be glad to know what the children will do," said poor Mrs. Danvers, in a fever of anxiety for their enjoyment the moment they were out of her sight.

"We will inquire presently," persisted Mrs. Harrington, who was always firm, even in trifling matters; and had made up her mind they should be left to themselves at first, to become acquainted with the rest of the party.

"If I could just ask them," said Mrs. Danvers; "I dare say I could easily find my way to the school-room: where is it?"

"At the other end of the house," replied Mrs. Harrington.

"Oh, just along the passages, that we passed as we came in, I dare say."

"No, quite in a contrary direction. If you wish to know what your children prefer doing, Thomson shall ask for you."

Mrs. Harrington rang the bell, and Thomson was sent to the school-room, while Mrs. Danvers sat pondering upon the extreme unpleasantness of being a visitor in the house of any lady who was determined to have her own way.

Amy was in the school-room, waiting for her cousins, and a little time was spent in introductions, and in discussing whether it was a pleasant afternoon, and whether the snow would be disagreeable if they went out on the terrace; and when at last it was decided to be very cold, and that they had thin shoes on, and that one was rather liable to cold, and another to cough, &c., Dora found they were resolutely bent on an afternoon in the house, and all that was to be done was to show them to their respective apartments to take off their bonnets and shawls, and to wish heartily that they would remain there till summoned to the drawing-room for the evening. Quickly, much more quickly than Dora had supposed possible, they appeared again, full of expectation that something was to happen which was to give them very great pleasure. The visit to Emmerton had been talked of for weeks before; it had been the subject of their thoughts by day, and their dreams by night; and the three school-girls (Dora's particular dread) had exulted when they announced to their companions that a portion of the Christmas holidays was to be passed at Emmerton Hall. In former days Mr. Harrington's family had been not only the

richest, but the gayest in the county, and every one associated with the name of Emmerton visions of breakfast-parties, dinner-parties, riding-parties, music, balls, and every kind of festivity: and though too young to be admitted to all these pleasures, the young ladies had still a bright, but somewhat indistinct notion, that a visit at Emmerton must be the height of human enjoyment; whilst poor Dora was expected to realise all these gay expectations when she was dissatisfied with herself, unhappy at the recollection of Wayland and her brother Edward, and with no one but Amy to assist in making every one comfortable.

A faint, despairing smile passed over her face as they entered, one after the other; and she cast a hopeless glance at Amy. Margaret had promised to appear, but Miss Cunningham considered it necessary to make some change in her dress, and her inseparable companion could not possibly leave her.

"You must have had a very cold drive," said Dora to the eldest Miss Stanley, a girl about her own age, — quiet, timid, and awed by the strangeness of every thing about her. It was the fourth time the observation had been made; and for the fourth time the same low, half-hesitating "Yes," was given in reply: but there the conversation ended, and Dora turned to her other visitors, hoping to find them more communicative. Unhappily her manner was such as to repel instead of encouraging them : she really wished to be kind and agreeable, but she did not for a moment forget that she was Miss Harrington of Emmerton Hall; and her efforts to be polite were so evident, and she was so very condescending in every thing she did and said, that it was impossible for the poor girls to be at ease.

Amy saw that her cousin was very different from

what she usually was, but could not comprehend in what the change consisted, and only longed for her to leave off asking them if they liked music and drawing, and whether they preferred home or school, and how many brothers and sisters they had, and talk of something more interesting. Any thing would have been preferable to the formality of asking a string of questions; even she herself was a little chilled by Dora's manner, and only ventured to say a few words in an under-tone to a rather pretty, delicate girl, who stood by the fire near her. This most disagreeable constraint had lasted about ten minutes, when, to Amy's extreme satisfaction, Miss Morton's voice was heard in the passage, and almost immediately afterwards she entered, followed by Rose, laden with a doll nearly as large as herself, which she was only allowed to play with occasionally. She ran into the room with great glee, to exhibit her treasure to Amy, but shrank away on seeing so many strange faces : every one, however, seemed to feel her appearance an indescribable relief; the shy Miss Stanley stooped to kiss her, and ask how old she was; her sister begged to know the name of the doll; and Amy's friend was delighted to find in her a resemblance to a sister of about the same age; while the two younger children looked with envy and admiration upon the handsome pink frock and bright blue bonnet, which was always the holiday dress of the beautiful doll. But a greater charm than Rose and her doll was soon found in Emily Morton's manner. She went from one to the other, saying something kind to each, in a voice so sweet that it would have made even a common-place expression agreeable; and after a few trifling questions, which gave her some idea of their peculiar tastes and dispositions, she managed, by

making observations of her own, to induce them to do the same; and listening with real and not forced interest to whatever was said, she led them on to describe their companions and their school life, till Dora found, to her surprise, that Hester Stanley, whom she had decided in her own mind to be almost devoid of intellect, and certainly unutterably dull, was a good French and Italian scholar, very fond of drawing, and farther advanced than herself in her acquaintance with books in general; that her sister was extremely amusing; and that Mary Warner had travelled on the Continent, and had many stories to tell of the peculiarities of foreign manners and customs. The younger children looked at Rose for a few minutes without speaking, then ventured to touch the doll, and at last, with one consent, seemed to resolve on being sociable, and retired into a corner of the room to enact the parts of mamma, nurse, and doctor to the poor doll, who, in spite of her brilliant colour, was pronounced to be in a most dangerous state of health, and to require instant advice; while the party collected round the fire, growing bolder and bolder as the noise in the room increased, began at last so entirely to enjoy themselves, that when the dusk of the evening had stolen on them, and a proposition was made by the children for candles, there was a general petition for a few moments' respite, that they might have the luxury and freedom of talking by firelight prolonged. It was a strange contrast to the stiffness of the first half hour; and Dora hardly knew whether she quite approved of it; it seemed to throw her so completely in the background: but to Amy it was delightful. It was so new, and so interesting to hear a description of a school life, that she thought she could have listened for ever; and even Margaret and Miss Cunningham,