Let us take a passing glance at Lady Augusta. And why, may we ask, has she taken such pains about her toilette to-day? Not that her dress is unusually rich or costly, but she has evidently made a study of the “becoming,” and looks positively handsome. She remembered something of a fuchsia in her hair, long, long ago; and now, by mere caprice of course, she has interwoven one in those dark clusters, never glossier nor more silky. Her calm, cold features, too, have caught up a gentler expression, and her voice is softer and lower. Her maid can make nothing of it. Lady Augusta has been so gracious and so thoughtful, and asked about her poor old sick grandmother. Well, these sunlights are meant to show what the coldest landscapes may become when smiled on by brighter skies! And Sybella. Pale and melancholy, and in mourning, she, too, has caught up a sense of pleasure at the coming visit, and a faint line of color tinges her white cheek. She is very glad that Mr. Dunn is expected. “She has to thank him for many kindnesses; his prompt replies to her letters; his good nature to poor Jack, for whom he has repeatedly written to the Horse Guards; not to speak of the words of encouragement and hope he has addressed to herself. Yes, he is, indeed, her friend; perhaps her only friend in the world.” And now they are met in the drawing-room, waiting with anxiety for some sounds that may denote the great man's coming. The three windows open to the ground; the rich sward, spangled here and there with carnations or rich-scented stocks, slopes down towards a little river, from the bridge over which a view is caught of the Glen-gariff road; and to this spot each as silently loitered, and as listlessly turned back again without a word. “We are waiting for Mr. Dunn, Augusta, ain't we?” asked Lord Glengariff, as if the thought had just suddenly struck him for the first time. “Yes,” replied she, gravely; “he promised us his company to-day at dinner.” “Are you quite sure it was to-day he mentioned?” said he, with an affected indifference in his tone. “Miss Kellett can inform us with certainty.” “He said Thursday, and in time for dinner,” said Sybella, not a little puzzled by this by-play of assumed forgetfulness. “The man who makes his own appointments ought to keep them. I am five minutes beyond the half-hour,” said Lord Glengariff, as he looked at his watch. “I suspect you are a little fast,” observed Lady Augusta. “There!--I think I heard the crack of a postilion's whip,” cried Sybella, as she went outside the window to listen. Lady Augusta followed, and was soon at her side. “You appear anxious for Mr. Dunn's coming. Is he a _very_ intimate friend of yours, Miss Kellett?” said she, with a keen, quick glance of her dark eyes. “He was the kind friend of my father, when he lived, and, since his death, he has shown himself not less mindful of me. There--I hear the horses plainly! Can't you hear them now, Lady Augusta?”