“You are less merry than usual, Kate,” said Sir Within, as he took her hand and looked at her with interest. “What is the reason?” A faint, scarce perceptible motion of her brow was all she made in answer. “Have you not been well?” “Yes, Sir. I am quite well.” “Have you had news that has distressed you?” “Where from?” asked she, hurriedly. “From your friends--from home.” “Don’t you know, Sir, that I have neither!” “I meant, my dear child--I meant to say, that perhaps you had heard or learned something that gave you pain.” “Yes, Sir,” broke she in, “that is it. Oh, if I could tell you----” “Why not write it to me, dear child?” “My writing is coarse and large, and I misspell words; and, besides, it is such a slow way to tell what one’s heart is full of--and then I’d do it so badly,” faltered she out with pain. “Suppose, then, I were to settle some early day for you all to come over to Dalradern; you could surely find a moment to tell me then?” “Yes, Sir--yes,” cried she; and, seizing his hand, she kissed it passionately three or four times. “Here they are,” said Ada, merrily--“here they are! And if Kate’s does ample justice to your beautiful fountain, mine has the merit of showing how ugly it might have been. Isn’t this hideous?” After a few little pleasant common-places, Sir Within turned to Mademoiselle Heinzleman, and said: “I have rather an interesting book at Dalradern; at least, it would certainly have its interest for you, Mademoiselle. It is a copy of ‘Clavigo,’ with Herder’s marginal suggestions. Goethe had sent it to him for his opinion, and Herder returned it marked and annotated. You will do me an infinite favour to accept it.” “Ach Gott!” said the governess, perfectly overwhelmed with the thought of such a treasure. “Well, then, if the weather be fine on Tuesday, Mademoiselle, will you and my young friends here come over and dine with me? We shall say three o’clock for dinner, so that you need not be late on the road. My carriage will be here to fetch you at any hour you appoint.” A joyous burst of delight from Ada, and a glance of intense gratitude from Kate, accompanied the more formal acceptance of the governess; and if Sir Within had but heard one tithe of the flattering things that were said of him, as he drove away, even his heart, seared as it was, would have been touched. Kate, indeed, said least; but when Ada, turning abruptly to her, asked, “Don’t you love him?” a slight colour tinged her cheek, as she said, “I think he’s very kind, and very generous, and very-------” “Go on, dear--go on,” cried Ada, throwing her arm around her--“finish; and very what?” “I was going to say an impertinence,” whispered she, “and I’ll not.”