That dead sister of Mrs. Smith had always been and would always be a not-to-be-broken bond of union between them, for the widow knew how gladly “that grand Bootles,” as she always called him, would have tried to make up for the love she had lost, while to Bootles Mrs. Smith stood out from the rest of womankind as the sister of the only woman he had ever wished or asked to marry him. He helped Miss Grace up to the seat beside Mrs. Smith, and took his own place beside the Russian lady, who entertained him very well during the three miles’ drive between Eagles Station and Ferrers Court. [Picture: In another moment they had drawn up at the great gothic door-way] “Oh, but what a paradise!” she cried, as the carriage turned into the court-yard. “I am delighted that it pleases you,” he answered, glancing round to see what effect his ancestral home had upon Miss Grace. “Lovely!” she murmured to Mrs. Smith. In another moment they had drawn up at the great Gothic door-way, and immediately the figure of a little child dressed in white appeared on the top of the broad steps, kissing her small hands in token of welcome. “Go in directly; you’ll get cold. Go in, I say,” Bootles called out. It was, indeed, bitterly cold, and a few flakes of snow were falling. But Miss Mignon had a budget of news for her Bootles, and was not to be done out of telling it. “Lal has had a letter from home,” she piped out in her shrill voice. Lal was her name for Lacy, and home meant Blankhampton Barracks. “And the St. Bernard has gotted two puppies—beauties—and I’m to have one. Lal says so. And Terry has broked his leg.” Terry was one of Bootles’s grooms. “And Major Ally’s going to be married.” Bootles was so surprised that he forgot the cold and his order that Miss Mignon should go in. “_What_!” he exclaimed, incredulously. Just then Lacy himself came to the top of the steps with open arms, so to speak, and carried off Mrs. Smith into the house. Miss Mignon took advantage of the opportunity to run down the steps just as Bootles helped Madame Gourbolska to the ground. “I welcome you with much pleasure,” he said, cordially—“Miss Grace also,” as he gave her his hand to jump the last step. “I am afraid you are tired. You are very white.” “I am tired,” she said, in a low voice, not looking at him, but at the child. “It is so bitterly cold. Don’t stand a moment. Mignon, _will_ you go in?” Miss Mignon skipped up the steps, and the Russian lady caught her in her arms. “Oh, you little angel! and what is your name?” “I’m Miss Mignon. You’re a very pretty lady,” returned Mignon, critically. “I wanted to go to the station, but Bootles said it was too cold, and Lal—” “Madame does not know what Bootles and Lal mean,” interrupted Bootles. “This is Bootles, and that’s Lal,” Miss Mignon informed her. “I’m Miss Mignon, and I belong to Bootles.”