"You do not remember it, then," said Leonard to Helen, in accents of melancholy reproach--"there where I saw you last! I doubted whether to keep it exactly as it was, and I said, 'No! the association is not changed because we try to surround it with whatever beauty we can create; the dearer the association, the more the Beautiful becomes to it natural.' Perhaps you don't understand this--perhaps it is only we poor poets who do." "I understand it," said Helen, gently. She looked wistfully at the cottage. "So changed--I have so often pictured it to myself--never, never like this; yet I loved it, commonplace as it was to my recollection; and the garret, and the tree in the carpenter's yard." She did not give these thoughts utterance. And they now entered the garden. CHAPTER IV. Mrs Fairfield was a proud woman when she received Mrs Riccabocca and Violante in her grand house; for a grand house to her was that cottage to which her boy Lenny had brought her home. Proud, indeed, ever was Widow Fairfield; but she thought then in her secret heart, that if ever she could receive in the drawing-room of that grand house the great Mrs Hazeldean, who had so lectured her for refusing to live any longer in the humble tenement rented of the Squire, the cup of human bless would be filled, and she could contentedly die of the pride of it. She did not much notice Helen--her attention was too absorbed by the ladies who renewed their old acquaintance with her, and she carried them all over the house, yea, into the very kitchen; and so, somehow or other, there was a short time when Helen and Leonard found themselves alone. It was in the study. Helen had unconsciously seated herself in Leonard's own chair, and she was gazing with anxious and wistful interest on the scattered papers, looking so disorderly (though, in truth, in that disorder there was method, but method only known to the owner,) and at the venerable well-worn books, in all languages, lying on the floor, on the chairs--anywhere. I must confess that Helen's first tidy womanlike idea was a great desire to arrange the litter. "Poor Leonard," she thought to herself--"the rest of the house so neat, but no one to take care of his own room and of him!" As if he divined her thought, Leonard smiled, and said, "It would be a cruel kindness to the spider, if the gentlest hand in the world tried to set its cobweb to rights." HELEN.--"You were not quite so bad in the old days." LEONARD.--"Yet even then, you were obliged to take care of the money. I have more books now, and more money. My present housekeeper lets me take care of the books, but she is less indulgent as to the money." HELEN, (archly.)--"Are you as absent as ever?" LEONARD.--"Much more so, I fear. The habit is incorrigible. Miss Digby--" HELEN.--"Not Miss Digby--sister, if you like."