And she did not say a word. Nevertheless, the Elder looked queerly at Neil the following evening, and when he found an opportunity, said, "You've been telling tales on me, lad. Your mother hasna petted me a' the day lang for naething. Some one has whispered a word in her ear. I can see it in her e'en and hear it in her voice, and feel it in the stroke o' her hand. I wonder who it was." "A bird of the air often carries such matters, sir. It would be but the generality; the particulars can come from yourself only." "Aye, to be sure!" And he smiled and seated himself comfortably in his chair before the blaze, adding, "It was a wonderfu' bit o' comfort, Neil, and you'll stand by me if your mother thinks wrong o' it?" "Shoulder to shoulder, sir. You did quite right." CHAPTER X. MARIA GOES TO LONDON. As the days lengthened, the cold strengthened, and New York experienced a winter of unparallelled severity. Food could only be procured with hard money, and at exorbitant prices, and the scarcity of fuel added greatly to the general distress. Wall Street surrendered most of its beautiful century-old shade trees, to warm the family of the German General Riederel, and before Spring, the streets and lanes of the city, the gardens and pleasure grounds of the burghers, were shorn of their finest fruit and shade trees. The aged, the very young, the men in the prisons and hospitals perished in great numbers, and the deathly cold of the atmosphere was full of the unspeakable misery everywhere present. These distressing conditions were intensified by the fear of an attack from Washington. The waters around New York were for several weeks so hard frozen that the heaviest artillery could easily have crossed on them; and the city in losing its insular position, lost its chief advantage for defense. Knyphausen constantly expected Washington to cross the ice, and refugees and citizens alike, were formed into companies and subjected to garrison duty. During the dark, bitter watches, men sometimes froze at their posts, and women in their unheated rooms, knelt listening to the children's breathing, for the atmosphere was so deadly cold that the babes shivered, even in the covert of their mothers' breasts. Yet, in this city of frost, and famine, and suffering, a hectic and most unnatural gaiety was kept up. Maria would have little part in it. She could find no pleasure in listening to comedies and songs, in a freezing temperature, and the warmth induced by dancing was generally followed by a most uncomfortable and dangerous chill. Her status in society also led her to feel more content in withdrawing from it a little. She was not yet to be classed among the married belles, nor was she quite at one with the girlhood that surrounded her. Her engagement to Lord Medway had set her a little apart; it was understood that she could not be in perfect sympathy with the plans and hopes of either maids or wives.