“Yes, it belongs to the Hetherton estate,” was the reply, and she continued, in a decisive tone: “Then it is never any more to be Mill Pond. It is Lake Petit forever.” They were half way up the hill by this time, and as one after another views of the surrounding country greeted Reinette’s wondering gaze, her delight knew no bounds, and, forgetting for a moment the load of pain at her heart, she gave vent to her delight in true girlish fashion, uttering little screams of surprise and gladness, and occasionally seizing Pierre by the shoulder and shaking him to make him see what she was seeing, and appreciate it, too. “It’s better than Switzerland, better than France—better than anything! I like America,” she cried, but Pierre shook his head, and gave a sigh for “La Belle France,” the best country in the world, where he wished he had staid, he said, adhering to his opinion in spite of all his mistress could say. Mr. Beresford could not understand them, but he knew that some altercation was going on between them, and was astonished to see the different expressions which passed in an instant over Reinette’s face, and how beautiful she grew as the bright color came and went, and she sparkled, and flashed, and laughed, and frowned, and shook up the stupid Pierre all in the same breath. They were driving up to the house by this time, and the moment the carriage stopped she sprang to the ground and began to look about her, gesticulating rapidly, and talking now in French and now in English, now to Mr. Beresford and now to Pierre, who was almost as excited as she was. The chateau, as she called it, was so much larger than she supposed, and the grounds more pretentious, and “Oh, the flowers!” she cried, darting in among them like a little humming-bird, and filling her hands with the sweet summer pinks, which she pressed to her lips and kissed as if they had been living things and sharers of her joy. “The flowers are the same everywhere, and I love them so much, and the world is so bright just like a picture, up here where it is so high; so near Heaven, and I am so happy,” she exclaimed, as she hopped about; then suddenly as a cloud passes over the sun on an April day, a shadow came over her face and great tears rolled down her cheeks as, turning to Mr. Beresford, she said, “What must you think of me to be so gay, and he dead over in the grave-yard? But it is one part of me; there are two natures in me you see, and I can’t help it, though all the time I’m missing him so much, and there’s a pain in my heart and a lump in my throat till it feels as if it would burst. And still I must love the brightness even though it’s all dark where he lies alone. Oh, father, if you, too were here!” She was sobbing bitterly, and Pierre was crying too, even while he tried to comfort her. Suddenly at something he said her sobbing ceased, and dashing the tears from her eyes she smiled brightly at Mr. Beresford and said: