Colonel Houston, who was waiting for her in the hall, received her with his old-school courtesy, drew her hand within his arm and led her out upon the lawn, where, under the shade of a gigantic chestnut tree, the tea table was set--its snowy drapery and glistening service making a pleasant contrast to the vivid green verdure of the lawn upon which it stood. Old Colonel and Mrs. Compton and Nellie formed a pleasing group around the table. Colonel Houston handed Margaret to her place, and took his own seat. “My dear, I am going to send Lemuel to Heathville to-morrow, and if you like to leave your letter with me, I will give it to him to put in the post office,” said Mrs. Houston. “I thank you, Mrs. Houston,” said Margaret. “Ah! that is what kept you in your room all the afternoon, my dear. You were writing a letter; whom were you writing to, my child?” said old Mrs. Compton. “Pray excuse me,” said Margaret, embarrassed. This answer surprised the family group, who had, however, the tact to withdraw their attention and change the subject. After tea, an hour or two was spent upon the pleasant lawn, strolling through the groves, or down to the silvery beach, and watching the monotonous motion of the sea, the occasional leap and plunge of the fish, the solitary flight of a laggard water fowl, and perhaps the distant appearance of a sail. At last, when the full moon was high in the heavens, the family returned to the house. Mrs. Houston took Margaret’s arm, and saying: “I have a little surprise for you, my love,” led her into the pretty wing appropriated to her. The rooms were illumined by a shaded alabaster lamp that diffused a sort of tender moonlight tone over the bright carpet and chairs and sofa covers, and the marble-topped tables, and white lace window curtains of the boudoir, and fell softly upon the pure white draperies of the sleeping-room beyond. Hildreth, in her neat, sober gown of gray stuff, and her apron, neckhandkerchief and turban of white linen, stood in attendance. Margaret had not seen her faithful nurse for a month--that is, not since her mother’s decease--and now she sprang to greet her, scarcely able to refrain from bursting into tears. Mrs. Houston interfered. “Now, my dear Margaret, here are your apartments--a sweet little boudoir and chamber, I flatter myself, as can be found in Maryland--connected with the house, yet entirely separate and private. And here are your servants; Hildreth will occupy the room in the roof above, and Forrest has a quarter in the grove there, within easy sound of your bell. Your boat is secure in the boathouse below, and your horse is in the best stall in the stable.” “I thank you, dear Mrs. Houston.”