"I am sure I am very much attached to you, my dear. I was saying so to Miss O'Shaughnessy only to-day. I don't deny that your manner is rather sharp at times, but there's nothing like trouble for taming the spirits. I shouldn't wonder if we got along much more happily after this. Miss Bridgie brought a little parcel for you--I mustn't forget that. It is on that little table. She told me to give it to you at once." "What can it be, I wonder?--something I left over there by mistake, I suppose," Sylvia said listlessly, as she unfolded the paper; but her expression altered the next moment as she beheld a flat leather case, inside which reposed a miniature painting of the same face which used to smile upon her from her own chimney-piece. Surprise held her speechless, while a quick rush of tears testified more eloquently than words to the faithfulness of the portrait. The painting was exquisitely fine and soft, the setting the perfection of good taste in its handsome severity. It seemed at the moment just the greatest treasure which the world could offer. Who could have sent it? Sylvia reluctantly handed the case for Miss Munns's curious scrutiny, the while she opened the note which had fallen from the paper. Bridgie's handwriting confronted her; but she had hardly time to marvel how so costly a gift could come from such an impecunious donor, before surprise number two confronted her in the opening words. "Esmeralda told me to give you this miniature from myself, but I want you to know that it is entirely her idea and present from the beginning. As soon as she heard your sad news, she asked me to borrow the best photograph of your father, to be copied by the same artist who painted the Major for her. She has been to see how he was getting on almost every day, till the poor man was thankful to finish it, just to be rid of her, and here it is to welcome you, dear, and, we hope, to be a comfort to you, all your life." "Esmeralda!" echoed Sylvia blankly. It seemed for a moment as if Bridgie must be romancing, for the staid English mind refused to believe that one who had at one time appeared actively antagonistic, and at the best had shown nothing warmer than a lofty tolerance, should suddenly become the most thoughtful and generous of friends. Yet there it was, specified in black and white. Esmeralda had originated the kindly plan; she had engaged no second-rate artist, but one to whom her own work had been entrusted, and had given freely of what was even more value to her than money, her time, in order that the gift should arrive at the right moment.