Saying this, she retreated, leaving her to wonder how the influence of a kindly face could penetrate to the kitchen. The few kind words of the servant, however, had not been offered without effect. Presently, cook again appeared, and peering in as before, with a face full of mystery, said-- "If you please, Miss, Colonel Hargrave is come in, and wants to know if you will give him a cup of tea." "Certainly," replied Mabel, in surprise. "I told him you would," said the cook, handing in a cup and saucer, which she had providently provided, and then departing again. In a few more seconds, Hargrave himself entered the room. "What!" said Mabel, "are you so soon tired?" "Yes," he replied, "and do you not think I have done my duty?--for I danced once with Caroline, and took the trouble of seeing them all provided with partners, two or three deep, before I stole away." "Here is tea and toast then," said Mabel, trying hard to speak cheerfully; but, to be at ease, was out of the question, with Hargrave seated directly opposite to her, and looking at her, as she felt, only more steadily, because she had not courage to raise her eyes. She played with her spoon, as if it were a curious piece of mechanism, which possessed some secret spring, which careful handling might discover, and then, seeming to fail in this, she traced, in imagination, the flowers on the table-cloth, with so much attention to the subject, that she quite started when he spoke again, and the voice was so like that of years gone by, that it seemed to come from the grave of old recollections. "Does not this remind you," he said, "of a time, long ago, when we used to have tea in your shady arbour, on the old table I made for you; when that dear child was on my knee, and there was the dish of strawberries, on which you so prided yourself, and the little tea-pot, which Betsy used to keep so bright?" Mabel turned away her head. "Yes--that was a sunny time--I see you have not forgotten it, nor our long walks, when I carried Amy over the wet fields, with you by my side, caring very little for all the stiles, and broken hedges, and deep ditches, which only made the walk more pleasant and exciting; and then, as we went, how we talked of noble deeds, and seemed, in our fancy, to emulate them--how many bright visions came with the merry carol of the birds, the glad sunshine above us, and the innocent flowers at our feet, and with the echo of our own wild gaiety, as the hills sent it back upon our ears. But do you remember that sparkling trout-stream, where, as I fished, we sat for hours, without speaking a word, thinking of--I know not what; but quite enough to make us still and happy. Oh, Mabel, Mabel, will you refuse to recall those happy scenes again. Will you not say the word which would send me back, almost a boy, to my native hills again?"