"Perhaps Miss Burns can enlighten us concerning the domestic arrangements of our eccentric relative," observed Mr. Thornton, turning to me. "I have not been two hours in the house," I replied, smiling. "Miss Burns!" exclaimed Mrs. Brand, with a start. "Really, Edward, I am surprised you did not mention it sooner. You know how I have longed to see our dear young cousin." She tripped up to me as she spoke, and gave my hand a fervent squeeze. Then looking at me through a gold eye-glass: "My dear child," she said, "how well you look--not at all altered. Were I not so short-sighted, I should have known you anywhere--would not you, Edward?" "No," he replied, quietly; "I find Miss Burns much altered; and if I recognised her, it was in spite of the change seven years have worked." "Ah! very true," sighed Mrs. Brand. "Years pass, and the world goes on with all its vanities. My dear girl, have you really no idea of what we are to do for beds and a dinner?" The moral sentiment had been uttered with slow abstraction, but the question relating to the things of the flesh, came out quite briskly. I regretted that I could give Mrs. Brand no information, but repeated my previous statement. "It is a _guet-apens_," she feelingly observed; "a most un-English, uncivilised mode of proceeding--worse than primitive--quite savage. Edward, what do you advise?" "Eggs." "Eggs!" "Yes, I have always laboured under the impression that eggs were the resource of travellers in distress." "When they could get them, I suppose," rather sharply replied his sister. "Yes," he observed, gently tapping his foot with the extremity of his cane. "I should say this was an indispensable condition." "I have sent Brooks to a place called Leigh," resumed Mrs. Brand, "but I have no hopes; for Marks says that this not being market-day, there is no chance of our getting anything." "Excepting visitors," said Mr. Thornton as a sound of carriage wheels was heard in the neighbouring avenue. We stood near the wicket-door, which had so often been my post of observation. A travelling-carriage was coming up the broad avenue. It stopped before the house, and a lady alighted. Affection rendered Mrs. Brand sharp-sighted, for without even using her eye-glass, she exclaimed: "Edith!" and biting her lip, looked uneasily at her brother. "Mrs. Langton!" he said raising his eye-brow, and smoothing his delicate moustache, "why I think it is at least five years since I saw her climbing the Jung-Frau with her gouty old husband. Is he not dead, Bertha?" Bertha did not answer; she had hastened away to her friend. They met most affectionately, and entered the house kissing. "This is quite a gathering of cousins," observed Edward Thornton smiling with some irony, "I suppose you know Mrs. Langton?" "I remember her as Miss Grainger."