"This way, Margaret," said Cornelius, leading me into a small, but comfortable and elegant-looking parlour, which took my fancy at once. The furniture, though simple, was both good and handsome; the walls were adorned with a few pictures and engravings in gilt frames; a well-filled book-case faced the rosewood piano; a large table, covered with books, occupied the centre of the room, and a stand of splendid flowers stood in the deep bow-window. "Well!" carelessly said Miss O'Reilly, who had followed us in almost immediately, "where is that little Sassenach girl?" "Here she is, Kate," replied Cornelius, leading me to his sister; he stood behind me, his hand lightly resting on my shoulder, and looking at her, I felt sure, for, in the stoic sadness of her gaze, there was something of a glance returned. She lowered the light, gave me a cursory look, put by the lamp, and sat down on a low chair by the fire, on which she kept her eyes intently fixed. Miss O'Reilly was very like her brother, and almost as good-looking, though at least ten or twelve years older. She was fresh as a rose, and had the dark hair, finely arched eyebrows, clear hazel eyes, and handsome features of Cornelius; but the expression of countenance was different. It was as decided, but more calm; as kind, but scarcely as good-humoured. She was very simply attired in black; her glossy and luxuriant hair was braided, and fastened at the back of her head with jet pins; jet bracelets clasped her wrists. As she sat leaning back in her chair, her hands clasped on her knees, even that simple attire and careless attitude could not disguise the elegant symmetry of her figure; her hands were small and perfect. "Well!" said Cornelius in a low tone. "Well!" replied his sister, smiling at the fire with sorrowful triumph in her clear eyes; "she is like her father; she has his eyes; pity she has not his hair, instead of those pale and sickly flaxen locks. Come here, little thing," she added, looking up at me, and holding out her hand. I hesitated. "She is very shy, Kate," said Cornelius. "I shall cure her of her shyness. Come here, Midge." I obeyed, and took her extended hand. She had the open, direct manner of which children are quick to feel the power; her likeness to her brother made me more communicative than I usually was with strangers. "My name is not Midge," I said to her. "Then it ought to have been, you mite of a thing!" "My name is Margaret; it was Mamma's name." Miss O'Reilly dropped my hand, and rose somewhat abruptly. Then she took my hand again and said calmly-- "Come, child, you look dusty and tired, after your journey."