When the bereaved widower first arrived at Inchbracken, Julia was very silent. Young innocence and awakening womanhood stood appalled before the revelation of grief and mystery in human life. Her eyes and voice drooped plaintively, but it was not till the following morning that she and the sufferer exchanged a word. Even then it was but little that was said, some civil words of routine, but the gentle pensive droop in word and look, distilled like heavenly dew over some acrid waste. Even so the Angel of Pity may look down on the vanquished and sore wounded in the battle of life; and the poor woe-begone Major felt grateful and consoled at the gentle tribute to his grief. She would linger in the breakfast-room with needle work or a book, and the Major got into a way of hovering round, as some frost-benumbed toad might creep from under his cold stone, to stretch his stiffened limbs, and thaw them in the watery sunshine of a February afternoon. When this arrangement seemed growing into a habit, Julia betook herself to the morning-room, which she could count on having to herself at that hour, for pursuing her work or studies. Presently the door would open and the widower would appear, asking her permission to sit awhile, and apologizing for his intrusion. There must have been companionship in each other's presence, for there was not much conversation, and what there was was vapid enough; but the divine pity in Julia's pensive droop transfused itself through each syllable, and the desolate one felt soothed and refreshed. What Julia felt, it is difficult to say, and one cannot but wonder that, after the first three days, she did not find the whole business a lackadaisical bore. We can only suppose that life in the proper character and circumstance of Julia Finlayson had become intolerably dull, and that she had adopted those of the Angel of Pity by way of a change. She could not have seriously contemplated capturing the broken-hearted widower, especially since Lady Caroline had just secured Mr. MacSiccar's report as to the fortune and standing of Augustus Wallowby, Esquire. The report had been most satisfactory, in fact had so far exceeded expectation, that good Lady Caroline had been seduced into a momentary irreverence at the ways of Providence, in giving vulgar people so much money. She was sorry for it immediately after, however, for she was a good Tory, and honoured the powers that be, among which Providence admittedly takes the first place. As to the vulgarity even, Lady Caroline might have been brought to admit that she had seen examples of it in circles bordering very closely on the Court, and she would not have been at all reluctant to acknowledge that it existed in the army, and when found there was quite as offensive as any thing that the proverbial Manchester of her day could produce.