It was yet early in the morning, and she went to “see after” breakfast. Her first visit was to her diary, to have the new milk strained, and the old milk skimmed, and the cream and butter iced and brought out for breakfast. Then she sent two little negro girls into the garden, to gather raspberries—a necessary luxury in its season on a country breakfast table. Then she went into the cellar, to select the fresh fish and game and oysters that had been kept in ice. Then went to the pantry, to give out coffee, tea, chocolate, sugar, &c. Then to the plate and china closet, to “parade” the best Sevres breakfast service and the family plate, in honour of the occasion. Her next visit was to the breakfast room, to see that the table was well arranged. “I wonder, after all, if India _will_ like to spend two hours of the early morning in this manner, instead of lounging them away over her own elegant toilet,” said Rosalie to herself, as she passed into the room. Finding all in order here, the busy little housewife passed next into that pleasant room near the kitchen and the pantry, and fronting upon the garden, and devoted to the picking of vegetables and fruit, and such little half-horticultural, half-culinary pursuits. Here she found her two little black handmaids, with their baskets of raspberries, waiting for her. She praised their diligence and took the raspberries, and was engaged in putting them in cut-glass dishes, and powdering them with sugar, when she felt a light hand laid upon her shoulder, and, glancing around, she saw Mark Sutherland standing behind her, smiling upon her. A sudden bright blush suffused her beautiful countenance; but she exclaimed, saucily— “Not even the grace of Paul Pry, to say, ‘I hope I don’t intrude.’” “You know you gave me the freedom of this room long ago, little housekeeper.” “A privilege which men like you seem inclined to abuse,” answered Rosalie, glancing at her gingham gown, holland apron, and turned-up sleeves. “Beautiful in that also, Rosalie. What a charming little peasant you make!” “I think so too,” said Rose, ingenuously; and then, blushing and laughing, she suddenly corrected herself, saying, “_Oh!_ I did not mean _that_; I meant I like this dress and this occupation, and think they suit me perhaps as well as any other.” “Shall I help you with this also, Rosalie?” said Mark, taking up a sugar-duster. “Oh, no, thank you! I have nearly done. If you want employment, you may go into the garden and select a bouquet of the sweetest half-blown white rose buds and heliotrope that you can find, as a morning offering to our bride.” “And for you, a posy of heartsease,” he answered meaningly, pressing her fingers as he went. Rosalie finished her fruit, ornamenting the edges of the dishes with fresh green leaves, and sent them to the table. Then she went and changed her dress for breakfast; and when Mark returned from the garden, he found her standing in the hall waiting for him.