"I have ironed lots of handkerchiefs, all the beautiful blue and white spotted ones," cried Emmie, rushing in, red and glowing, "and Molly has been telling me such lovely stories. I think Molly quite the handsomest woman I have ever seen after Queenie, she is so nice and rosy." "Come, Em, come," replied the elder sister, quietly; "it is raining so fast, dear, and the wind will blow you away unless you keep close to me. Bid Caleb good-night, and let us go." "How dark and wet it is," cried poor Emmie, as the door of her child's paradise closed behind her, and the grey frowning portico of Granite Lodge loomed on her distant vision. "Oh, Queenie, why must we not go and live with Caleb, and leave this horrid, hateful prison of ours?" "Hush, pet; shall I tell you a story? but perhaps you cannot hear my voice in the wind. What! tired, darling, already? Suppose I carry you again just for fun! It is dark, and no one will see us." "Yes, just for fun," returned the child wearily; "if you are not tired, Queenie. Mind you put me down when you are tired." "Of course; you are so dreadfully heavy;" but the little joke died away into something like a sob as she lifted the thin, weak figure in her strong young arms, and struggled bravely through the storm. CHAPTER VI. "YOU ARE EMMIE'S UNCLE!" "So speaking, with less anger in my voice Than sorrow, I rose quickly to depart."--_Curwen Leigh._ Queenie Marriott was right in asserting that she never failed to undertake anything to which she had really made up her mind. Strong impulses were rare with her; but now and then they gained the mastery, and over-bore all dread of opposing obstacles. At such times the forces of her mind lay dormant; argument could not shake; persuasion, even conviction, availed nothing. In such moods Queenie was inexorable, and triumphed in the exercise of her self-will. "I have nothing to lose in this matter, and all to gain," she had said to Cathy. On the afternoon of the next half-holiday she had arrayed herself, with the stoicism of a young Spartan, and, with the help of feminine art and cunning arrangement, had even given a certain style to her shabby garments. "No one could take you for anything but a lady," Cathy said, as she watched her, half curiously and half enviously; "when people look at you they will not notice what you wear I mean. I wish I knew where you learnt deportment, my dear Madam Dignity. There," as Queenie buttoned her old gloves with a resolute air, "I cannot even lend you my pretty new ones, they would be ever so much too large." "Never mind," returned Queenie with a smile; "my plumes are homely, certainly, but they are not borrowed. Take care of Emmie for me, and wish me good luck, for I am continually leading the forlorn hope."