She was not past seventeen. Cast in so slight and exquisite a mould; so mild and gentle, so pure and beautiful, that earth seemed not her element, nor its rough creatures her fit companions. The very intelligence that shone in her deep blue eye, and was stamped upon her noble head, seemed scarcely of her age or of the world; and yet the changing expression of sweetness and good humour, the thousand lights that played about the face and left no shadow there; above all, the smile—the cheerful, happy smile—were intwined with the best sympathies and affections of our nature. She was busily engaged in the little offices of the table, and chancing to raise her eyes as the elder lady was regarding her, playfully put back her hair, which was simply braided on her forehead, and threw into one beaming look such a gush of affection and artless loveliness, that blessed spirits might have smiled to look upon her. The elder lady smiled; but her heart was full, and she brushed away a tear as she did so. “And Brittles has been gone upwards of an hour, has he?” asked the old lady, after a pause. “An hour and twelve minutes, ma’am,” replied Mr. Giles, referring to a silver watch, which he drew forth by a black ribbon. “He is always slow,” remarked the old lady. “Brittles always was a slow boy, ma’am,” replied the attendant. And seeing, by-the-by, that Brittles had been a slow boy for upwards of thirty years, there appeared no great probability of his ever being a fast one. “He gets worse instead of better, I think,” said the elder lady. “It is very inexcusable in him if he stops to play with any other boys,” said the young lady, smiling. Mr. Giles was apparently considering the propriety of indulging in a respectful smile himself, when a gig drove up to the garden-gate, out of which there jumped a fat gentleman, who ran straight up to the door, and getting quickly into the house by some mysterious process, burst into the room, and nearly overturned Mr. Giles and the breakfast-table together. “I never heard of such a thing!” exclaimed the fat gentleman. “My dear Mrs. Maylie—bless my soul—in the silence of night, too—I _never_ heard of such a thing!” With these expressions of condolence, the fat gentleman shook hands with both ladies, and drawing up a chair, inquired how they found themselves. “You ought to be dead—positively dead with the fright,” said the fat gentleman. “Why didn’t you send? Bless me, my man should have come in a minute, and so would I, and my assistant would have been delighted, or anybody, I’m sure, under such circumstances; dear, dear—so unexpected—in the silence of night, too!” The doctor seemed especially troubled by the fact of the robbery having been unexpected, and attempted in the night-time, as if it were the established custom of gentlemen in the housebreaking way to transact business at noon, and to make an appointment, by the twopenny post, a day or two previous.