Women who honestly love, invariably think themselves unworthy of their good fortune, when, perhaps, and very often too, the boot (to use a vulgar expression) is on the other foot. But love always makes us humble. If it does not, it is love of ourselves, and not of our lovers. A sudden impulse seemed to seize Miss Llewellyn, and, sitting down to her pretty writing-table, she drew out pen, ink and paper, and wrote hurriedly,-- ‘MY DEAREST,--Do you think I could enjoy a holiday without you? No! Whilst you are away, my place is here, watching over your interests, and when you return I shall be too happy to leave you. But come back as soon as you can. I don’t want to spoil your pleasure, but I am so afraid for your health. You get so careless when you are alone. Don’t go bathing in cold water when you are hot, nor eating things which you know from experience disagree with you. You will laugh at my cautions, but if you only knew how I love you and miss you, you would sympathise with my anxiety--’ Miss Llewellyn had written thus far, when a tap sounded on the door of her room, and on her giving permission to enter, a servant appeared and addressed her with all the deference usually extended to the mistress of a house. ‘If you please, ma’am, there is a young man and woman from Usk below, who want to speak to you.’ Miss Llewellyn became crimson, and then paled to the tint of a white rose. ‘From Usk, Mary?’ she repeated; ‘are you sure? I don’t expect anybody this evening. What is the name?’ ‘Oh, I’m quite sure, ma’am. They said their name was Owen, and they asked particularly for Miss Llewellyn, the housekeeper.’ ‘What is the young woman like?’ ‘Rather nice-looking, ma’am, that is, for a person from the country. I’m sure they’re not Londoners from the way they speak, though I don’t know where Usk is; but she’s got nice curly hair, much the colour of yours, ma’am.’ ‘Well, well, show them into the housekeeper’s room, Mary, or stay, as his lordship is away, you may as well put them in the library, and say I will be with them in a minute.’ As soon as the servant had left her, Miss Llewellyn ran up to her bedroom, with her hand tightly pressed over her heart, and commenced to rapidly pull off her ornaments, and to take a plainer dress out of her wardrobe. ‘If it should be a message from mother,’ she murmured breathlessly, as she stripped off her finery, ‘they mustn’t go back and say they found me like this. Dear, dear mother. She would break her heart to find out the meaning of it all.’