As we entered, an elderly female came to the door, and, making me a curtsey, said, in a formal manner, "This is an honour I had not looked to, but I know how to be thankful for it, Miss Middleton. Mr. Henry, I hope I see you well?" "As well as usual, thank you (he replied). Miss Middleton has brought you a message from her aunt." "Yes," I immediately said; "Mrs. Middleton is very anxious to know that you find yourself happy and comfortable here, and would have come herself to see you, if she had been able to leave my uncle for so long; but he has been ill lately, and she scarcely ever goes far from the house." "Tell Mrs. Middleton, Ma'am, that the house is good; that the children are well; and that I am grateful to her." There was something chilling in the manner with which this was said, and the glassy eyes and thin lips of Mrs. Tracy were far from prepossessing. I made, however, another effort, and said, "If you could manage to get as far as Elmsley, my aunt would, I know, be glad to see you." "I have nursed her at my bosom, and carried her in my arms, and I do not care less for her now than I did then; but if it was to save her life, I would not go to Elmsley and see--" "Me there," exclaimed Henry. "I told you, Ellen, that I should have to go through a scene, and now, I suppose, it must come to pass. Go upstairs with Alice while I make my peace;" and as he spoke, he almost pushed me out of the room, and shut the door. Alice followed me, and said, in her gentle voice, as I stood at the bottom of the narrow stairs, somewhat puzzled and at a loss what to do, "If you will come to my room, Miss Middleton, I can show you some of the reasons that make me like Bridman so much." I gladly assented. She led the way, and opened the door of a small room, in which there was no furniture, but a little bed, with dimity curtains of snowy whiteness, a deal table, and two straw chairs. "This is a nice room," she said; "but come to the window, and you will see one of my reasons." She threw up the sash, and pointed with her little hand to the village church, which rose in quiet beauty from among the leafless trees. "Is it not pretty?" she asked, with a smile. "Very pretty," I answered; and as I used her own simple words, I felt that there was that in them, said as she said them, that is often wanting in pages of impassioned eloquence, in volumes of elaborate composition,--_reality_. She was happy in this place, because of her little room, and because of the view of the village church, which she could see from its window. How pure must be the mind, how calm must be the life, when such a circumstance can give a colouring to it. "Alice, have you no books? I see none here." "I have a few; do you wish to see them?" "Yes, I do; I should like to know what books you like."