Miss Christine Rossiter, aged 46; Miss Alice Creighton, aged 17; Miss Julia Schuyler, aged 16; and Miss Emma, aged 14. These were the ladies who, a good portion of the year, were domesticated at Schuyler Hill, and of whom I will speak in order; and first of Miss Rossiter, whose personal appearance and peculiarities Godfrey had of course exaggerated when he talked of her to Edith. She was his mother’s sister, and forty-six, and had once been engaged to a young man who left her all his money, and for whom she wore black half a dozen years, during which time she gave herself to the church, and went so far as to think of turning Romanist, and hiding her grief in a convent. But she recovered from that, and being good-looking, and only thirty, with a fortune of half a million, she went back to the world again, and became a belle, for she was a handsome woman still, and at times exceedingly brilliant and witty, the result, it was whispered at last, of opium-eating in secret. This habit she had contracted during her seclusion, with a view to deaden her grief, and make her sleep at night. And after the grief was over the habit remained, and grew upon her constantly, until now she was never without her vial of the deadly stuff, and her nerves were completely shattered with the poison. Exceedingly proud and exclusive, she held herself above the most of her acquaintances, and made them feel that she did, and still exercised over them an influence which would draw every one of them to her side when she wished them to come. Few women understood the art of dressing better than she did, and when arrayed in evening costume, with her diamonds and her lace, she was still a very handsome and attractive woman, capable of entertaining a roomful of guests, and keeping them delighted with her ready wit and brilliant repartees. She should never marry, she said, and yet more than Godfrey believed that she had no objection to becoming Mrs. Schuyler second, if only she were asked to do so. Since her sister’s death she had spent most of her time at the Hill, giving as an excuse that “Emily’s children needed a mother’s care so badly,” while Howard was always happier to have her there. Of this last there might have been two opinions, but the colonel was a peaceable man, and always made her welcome, and humored her whims and listened to her advice when he chose to do so, and offered no remonstrance when she appropriated to herself the very best and pleasantest room in the house, the one with the bay-window overlooking the river and the mountains, and which, as it chanced to be in the south wing, was one of the suite intended for Edith, and which she surrendered, with what reluctance we shall see hereafter.