"What a queer little thinking machine that is," muttered Ted, drowsily; but Garth only patted her head kindly. It was never his way to laugh at a child's fancies. "The real germ is hidden in the bud; a mere infant will sometimes turn our wisdom into foolishness," he had observed more than once in his graver moments. "Well, my white May-flower," he continued, using his pet name for her; "so the angels were having it all to themselves this evening, eh?" "I did not know we were assisting at a _séance_," growled Ted, stretching himself; "we have got a precious small medium, it strikes me. What sort of spirits were they, Emmie, black, white, or grey? I fancied my own familiar, in the shape of an elongated cat, with yellow sparks for eyes, grinned at me with feline and whiskered face from behind the sofa corner. 'Avaunt thee, witch,' I cried, and with diabolic stare and hiss it vanished." "A truce with your nonsense, Ted; you will scare the child." "I think we have all been very stupid and silent this evening," interposed Langley. "I fancy that we are all sorry to lose Queenie and Emmie from our circle to-morrow." "The sofa-cushion is drenched with my tears," continued Ted, the incorrigible. "The drip, drip of them was mistaken by Langley for rain. 'A wet evening,' quoth she; but my sobs prevented me from undeceiving her." "Isn't Mr. Ted wicked to tell so many stories in play?" interrupted Emmie, in a shocked tone. "Play!" reiterated that remorseless youth, "is that how you stigmatize an honest grief, and mistaken though blighted devotion? is it nothing to this lacerated heart to know that the beloved heads of the Marriott sisters will rest for the last time to-night beneath our roof? 'Quoth the raven, nevermore, rests sweet Marriott at thy door.'" "Oh, shut up, you young idiot," exclaimed his brother in a tone of deep disgust. "He has been so tiresome all day," observed Cathy; "he has not left Queenie and me a moment in peace." "Only a lock of hair, and that was refused; even a hair-pin would have been prized, or the frayed end of a ribbon; all, all denied. 'Oh stay, the Clayton said; and yield A withered rose, or weed of field. Indignant glared her bright brown eye, And with a frown she made reply, You botherer.'" Ted, in another moment--" "You have the heart of a barbarian, Garth; the softer passion is unknown to you--the 'pills and paradise' of a man's existence. Look at me, like Etna half consumed, a mighty ruin--all thy work, oh woman! Ah, as the soothing bard, the glorious Will of immortal memory, once wrote-- 'He never told his love; no, never; No more did she, but did you ever'--