The evening appeared very interminable to Kate; the boys were set to their lessons immediately after tea, with an injunction from their mother not to leave any for the morning, it made them so late at their "breakfastses," and then mother and daughter in a species of duet expatiated on the wonderful talents and acquirements of the eldest son, until having exhausted their subject they commenced a severe cross examination of herself, when a loud ring disturbed the enquiry, and Mrs. Wilson started from her seat exclaiming "Law! how Wilson do ring." Mr. Wilson was a short, thick man of even a more dingy, leaden-yellow hue than his son; small piggish eyes, thick hearth-brush looking hair, and a voice of unredeemed harshness, such as one might expect from a slave driver, were his most striking characteristics. He was however civil enough, made due enquiries after his brother-in-law, asked if town was full, and the opera well attended, (oblivious in his anxiety to put these fashionable queries, that it was September), and finally betook himself to devour some chops, the bones of which he polished with surprising dexterity, first however sending the boys to bed with a sudden imperious sternness that absolutely startled Kate; she soon pleaded fatigue and bid them good night. "We have prayers at half-past eight, Miss Vernon," said Mrs. Wilson. "Indeed, well I shall be ready." The dreariness of those hours when Kate had extinguished her candle, and in the darkness of night gave herself up to grief, we will not attempt to describe--the exaggeration of distance between her and all she had ever known--the agonised longing for some escape,--the sense of utter estrangement from every familiar style of thought and feeling--the inexpressible loathing of all around her; are not these things written in the chronicles of many a memory? "Oh for a sound of nurse's voice! she is so true, so loving, and Georgy, why are you so far away. Will Mr. Winter never, never return! Is my life to pass away thus with these terrible people. Oh grandpapa! I am so alone." And ever with the thought of him Egerton's image rose before her; she was too miserable to curb her thoughts as she was wont, and from the silent depths of her heart, her spirit called to him agonisingly; with unutterable longing, thirsting for a sound of his voice, as though it were a spell to conjure away the gloom and the difficulties round her, striving, panting in a death struggle fer happiness. Who dare limit the power lent to the divine essence by the force of a mighty wish, when we feel the intense longings of the imprisoned spirit darting in electric streams towards the object so ardently desired. There are momentary glimpses granted to the imagination, when purified by the agony of suffering, of grandeur, power and liberty, so far beyond our mortal state, that the first return to a commoner and calmer frame of mind, is usually indicated by a shudder or a smile at our own "strange fancies."