She had been accustomed to look forward to a time when she would be married, but the aspect in which the change of state had chiefly presented itself to her mind had been the being mistress of a house of her own. From the time Mr. Wallowby had been expected to visit them, her mother had spoken to her of the possibility of his wishing to marry her, and of the wealthy and distinguished position she would in that case be called on to fill. She had thought of it as something that would be very nice if it took place, though also rather formidable, and wondered if it would feel very strange and uncomfortable at first; but it had never presented itself to her as a thing which she was to make any effort to gain, or that it was a matter in regard to which she would be called on to exercise any independent choice. Her parents had arranged everything for her hitherto, and knew what was best and most proper. They had sent her to school, and decided what she was to study there, and she had studied it accordingly. In the proper time they would arrange for her being married, and it would be for her to fill as she best could the position they might decide on as best for her. And yet Sophia was not a person without character or full average'intelligence, as no doubt some day would be made manifest enough, when at length her individuality should waken up and assert itself. It was only that she had lived in retirement, and been 'very carefully brought up,' that is to say, in an especially narrow and artificial groove, that she was slow and quiescent herself, and had an unusually energetic and masterful mother. As regarded Roderick, she liked him very much for a friend, better than her own brother Peter, because he was kinder and more attentive to her, and better than his sister Mary, the only other person she had known equally long, because she was 'only a girl;' but that Roderick should feel for her anything so different from this tepid friendship, was something beyond her comprehension. She read the letter again, a third time, and even a fourth, utterly bewildered by its earnestness, and finally unable to make anything of it all, she carried it to her mother. Mrs. Sangster opened her eyes in surprise. Had a letter reached an inmate of her castle without her knowledge? Had her daughter received one without its passing under her censorship? What were things coming to? She took the letter and put on her glasses. 'From? Roderick Brown! as I'm a christian woman! And what? I do declare--a love-letter! Oh----!!' Many indignant thoughts swept wildly through her soul, many words hurried to her lips. 'The serpent!' But at the sound of her own voice, she paused. Her daughter knew nothing, no one had ever dared to sully her pure ear with such a tale; and should her mother's be the hand to rend the veil of innocency, and let in the sad knowledge that there is evil in the world? She could not. And yet she must say something, if only to cover her discomposure.