"His head has been bent towards her bright face as she smiled up in his with a world of love in it, and it seemed as if nothing could spoil their lives. There are the grand walks and woods, but she has no husband's arm to lean on now." "The children used to gambol about them, and make the woods ring and the walls echo as they played and laughed together. But there is only the one left, as I said a minute ago, and they do say her life hangs on a thread, though nobody seems to know what ails her. Some will have it that the child is just fretting herself to death after her sister, for they were always together. It seems an awful thing to be the last child left out of a large family, and in a home like that." Jack Sparkes pointed to Monks Lea, and the traveller assented, then asked, "Is the house open to visitors?" "Oh yes, sir. Cert'ny, sir; fine picture gallery, no end of curious things. Mrs. Austin is not a bit selfish even in her trouble. Her grand house will not find a plaster for a sore heart, but she takes care that it gives pleasure to many eyes all the same. And if I may be so bold, when you are among the pictures, just look at one—a family group, they call it. There's the colonel and Mrs. Austin with the baby on her knee, and little Miss Margery that is now, and the last of the lot, leaning against her. And all the others are there, looking so bright as if they were alive. If I'm not mistaken, sir, you'll say that though there's plenty of 'Old Masters' that people rave about, our last master, the colonel, is worth the whole lot put together for looks. You will not know the man he was, but I do. However, you will see the picture." Jack Sparkes sighed at the thought, then smiled and touched his old cap as he pocketed a coin bestowed by the traveller in return for his attentions and information. Then the latter took advantage of the permission and wandered at will through the noble hall, up the wide staircase, and from one great room and gallery to another, moralizing as he went. There were evidences of wealth and taste everywhere, but in fancy, he saw the sorrowful lady and the silent child, left alone to tread the grand apartments day by day. If he had felt inclined to be envious, the knowledge that in his own comparatively small home, there awaited him his fair young wife and four healthy little ones, would have made him drive such a thought from his mind. He would have said, "I am the truly rich parent. The poor lady who owns this stately home is wealthy in the world's eyes, but she is ever dwelling amongst shadows—memories of the dead and of happiness gone never to return. Poor widowed wife, poor bereaved mother! So rich, but so poor." The traveller thought this as he stood before the picture specially named by Jack Sparkes, and then, having duly feasted his eyes on the other beauties of Monks Lea, he went on his way, returned to his work in the world, and in due time, forgot the story of its occupants.