The widow's head rested on her hand, and tears were falling fast upon a small miniature of Amy that her husband had had taken, for he had been proud of his daughter's beauty. She heard not Amy's light step, and the daughter bent softly over her mother, and pressed her lips gently to her forehead. "My child." "My mother." And they were folded in one long, mournful embrace. It was the first--the last time Amy ever gave way before her mother; she felt she must have strength for both; and nobly she bore up against her own sorrowful feelings, smothered every rising emotion of her heart, and prayed that her widowed mother might be comforted and supported during her absence, and her own steps guided aright in the new path which lay so gloomily before her. Mrs. Elrington was now almost constantly with them; Amy had begged it as a favour, for she felt she could not do without the kind old lady, who was ever ready with her cheerful voice and pleasant, hopeful words to cheer her mother's drooping spirits. How fast the days flew by! It was Amy's last evening at home; in a few short hours she would be far away from all those she loved. A heavy cloud seemed to hang over the little party assembled round the tea table, and scarce a word was spoken. As the tea things were being removed, Mrs. Elrington went softly out, and the widow, drawing her chair near her daughter's, clasped her hand in hers, and in a low voice spoke long and earnestly words of love and advice, such as only a mother knows how to speak. Often in after years did Amy call to remembrance the sad, sweet smile, the gentle, earnest voice with which her mother's last words of love were uttered. CHAPTER II. A PROUD LADYE. Spring by Spring the branches duly Clothe themselves in tender flower; And for her sweet sake as truly All their fruit and fragrance shower: But the stream with careless laughter, Runs in merry beauty by, And it leaves me, yearning after Lorn to weep, and lone to die. In my eyes the syren river Sings and smiles up in my face; But for ever and for ever, Runs from my embrace. MASSEY. As we shall have occasion to speak of Mrs. Elrington often in these pages, some description of her is necessary, though a very slight one will suffice.