colour: but to the spectators on the bank there was nothing exciting to be seen, only the grassy shore opposite, the trees, a brown cow or two coming down to the river, or a passing boat full of travellers, or of merrymakers, as the chance might be. How softening, pacifying, composing it was! Mab’s voice talking to the boatman on the river’s edge came softly through the harmonious air. Who can think, in the mild calm of such a day, of confusion, or trouble, or shame? ‘I am in much luck,’ said Leo Swinford’s voice behind her, ‘to find you here; you are not usually to be found out in the morning.’ ‘No,’ said Lady William, telling him the reason with a burst of assumed cheerfulness. ‘It is possible that all Mab’s hopes of her auricula are spoiled by my fault; yet she forgives me,’ she said. Then suddenly she put forth her hand and gripped his arm, with a change on her face--‘Leo, where is Artémise? Find me Artémise!’ ‘What is the matter, dear lady?’ he said. ‘Ah! it is of no importance what is the matter. I will tell you afterwards. It is only this, that I must find Artémise--if I take a lanthorn myself and go out and search for her.’ ‘Ah! you laugh,’ he said, ‘and I am relieved. It is Mrs. Mansfield you mean--is she Mansfield now?--I think not, nor can I tell what her name is. Certainly I can find her. I saw her once, as I told you--twice--here in this village, as if she were living here; and then she came to see my mother. I am sure she has been with my mother since; but I have not seen her again.’ ‘With your mother is not the question. Your mother, I fear, Leo, would rather I did not see her. She likes no one to meddle with those she cares for.’ ‘Does she really care for this woman?’ ‘Can you ask me? They are near relations, and dear friends, and love each other.’ ‘Are you sure of all that?’ he said; ‘from my mother I have never heard----’ ‘But it is true.’ ‘The last I suppose is true,’ said Leo reluctantly. ‘My mother is fond of her--though why----’ Lady William gave him a look, as if there might be two sides to the question; then she said: ‘It is of the utmost importance to me to see her, Leo--and soon. Will you give me your attention, and remember it is no mere wish--for an old friend.’ ‘An old friend! I cannot conceive that she should ever have been a friend of yours.’ ‘Yet, more than that; I desire to see her more than the dearest friend I have in the world.’ ‘Your bidding shall be done, dear lady: should I go myself and take the lanthorn--as you say. But that will not be necessary. I shall find her; I hope, more easily--or whatever else you are pleased to wish for,’ he added in a lower tone. ‘That is too easy. Set me some task that will prove what I can do.’