"You surprise me! she must be moped to death here." "But will she leave her mother?" "Why, Caroline often leaves me," said Mrs. Merton. Mrs. Leslie was silent, and Evelyn and her new friend now joined the mother and daughter. "I have been trying to persuade Evelyn to pay us a little visit," said Caroline; "she could accompany us so nicely; and if she is still strange with us, dear grandmamma goes too,--I am sure we can make her at home." "How odd!" said Mrs. Merton; "we were just saying the same thing. My dear Miss Cameron, we should be so happy to have you." "And I should be so happy to go, if Mamma would but go too." As she spoke, the moon, just risen, showed the form of Lady Vargrave slowly approaching the house. By the light, her features seemed more pale than usual; and her slight and delicate form, with its gliding motion and noiseless step, had in it something almost ethereal and unearthly. Evelyn turned and saw her, and her heart smote her. Her mother, so wedded to the dear cottage--and had this gay stranger rendered that dear cottage less attractive,--she who had said she could live and die in its humble precincts? Abruptly she left her new friend, hastened to her mother, and threw her arms fondly round her. "You are pale; you have over-fatigued yourself. Where have you been? Why did you not take me with you?" Lady Vargrave pressed Evelyn's hand affectionately. "You care for me too much," said she. "I am but a dull companion for you; I was so glad to see you happy with one better suited to your gay spirits. What can we do when she leaves us?" "Ah, I want no companion but my own, own mother. And have I not Sultan, too?" added Evelyn, smiling away the tear that had started to her eyes. CHAPTER VIII. FRIEND after friend departs; Who hath not lost a friend? There is no union here of hearts That finds not here an end.--J. MONTGOMERY. THAT night Mrs. Leslie sought Lady Vargrave in her own room. As she entered gently she observed that, late as the hour was, Lady Vargrave was stationed by the open window, and seemed intently gazing on the scene below. Mrs. Leslie reached her side unperceived. The moonlight was exceedingly bright; and just beyond the garden, from which it was separated but by a slight fence, lay the solitary churchyard of the hamlet, with the slender spire of the holy edifice rising high and tapering into the shining air. It was a calm and tranquillizing scene; and so intent was Lady Vargrave's abstracted gaze, that Mrs. Leslie was unwilling to disturb her revery. At length Lady Vargrave turned; and there was that patient and pathetic resignation written in her countenance which belongs to those whom the world can deceive no more, and who have fixed their hearts in the life beyond. Mrs. Leslie, whatever she thought or felt, said nothing, except in kindly remonstrance on the indiscretion of braving the night air. The window was closed; they sat down to confer.