It may be derogatory to a heroine's character; but the truth must be confessed, that the consciousness of having fifty pounds in her dressing-box, was a great source of repose and security to ours; her own slender means were nearly exhausted, and the alternative of being literally penniless, though surrounded with every luxury, or mentioning the exhausted state of her purse to her open handed cousin, were most insupportable to her--then she could not bear that nurse should feel a want of any kind, and she not able to supply it. It was therefore with no small thankfulness, she penned a reply to her kind friend. Mr. Winter was one of those calm, rational, unselfish people, a compound seldom to be met with, from whom a favour may be safely taken. "See what Mr. Winter has sent me; a sort of birthday present before hand," said Kate, holding up the cheque to nurse. "Ah, how much, alanah?" "Fifty pounds, nurse." "Och, good christhians! think iv that now, athen, is'nt Misther Winther mighty like that little scrap iv paper himself, a thrifle to look at--but worth a power!" "Worth so much, that I for one, can never look upon the outward and visible sign of so much goodness, without respect and affection." "Thrue for ye, Miss Kate, an' so lock it up jewil, there's no sayin' the minnit ye may want it, I've sometimes a ton weight here, so I have, that's mighty quare, an' us in the haigth of grandeur, may be; but where's the use iv makin' ye down-hearted, darlint, wid me dhreams be day or night." "No, dear nurse," sighed Kate, "I do not wish to hear them." Monday morning dawned bright, but before noon, dark clouds rolled up from the horizon, Lady Desmond was looking royally beautiful, as she reclined in her bergère, her luxuriant, glossy black hair, braided under a small cap of exquisite lace; she was paler than usual, but there was a delicacy in her complexion, that contrasted favourably with her large, dark eyes, which looked up, at intervals, through their long, black lashes, with languid calmness, reminding Kate of the unnatural lull that preceeds a thunder storm. Kate was utterly dissimilar to the fair widow; her golden brown hair had a light in its waves--her high, calm brow, beneath which her soft eyes beamed with a glance, so earnest, and so pure--her girlish figure so graceful, and pliant, in its drapery of black--the air of deep repose, of unconscious harmony that pervaded every attitude and tone, all framed a totally different picture from the queen-like woman, who, sometimes arranging a few flowers she held in her hand, sometimes dropping them in her lap, heard, without attending to it, her cousin's voice, as she read aloud.