“‘DEAR MRS. GLADWELL,--I had the pleasure of seeing Charles a little while ago, who told me that you were quite well and looked very happy, which I was exceedingly glad to hear. He says you are grown a prodigious buck in your dress, that you have got quite a youthful bloom on your cheeks, and are the picture of health and content. I am sure you deserve to be so to compensate for the many years of misery which you drudged on in those horrid rooms in Pall Mall; and if you feel like me, you will never wish to see them or anything else in that _cursed_ town of London as long as you live. I heard from Di lately. She had been at Lady Grandison’s and seen Nurse Porter, who, she says, has not a wish ungratified but of seeing Betty Love, whom she quite raves about. “‘Di is to return to Lord Grandison’s at Christmas, where she is to meet all the best company from Dublin, and to live in a continual train of amusement. She is so popular in Kerry that when she goes to a play that is acted by strolling players at Tralee, the whole house rings with applause at her entrance, and she is obliged to curtsey her thanks like a queen. Remember me to Molly Thomas, and believe me, your sincere friend, “‘C. SACKVILLE.’ “The woman in the mulberry-coloured dress closes the letter. It has set in movement before her inward eye a train of images, pictures of past years. “She sees a child of four years old running to meet her. The hair curls abundantly, the cheeks are delicately pink, the curved lips smiling. In both hands she brings treasures--bright spindle berries heaped together, crimson and orange, in her little hands. “And the woman hears her glad voice calling: ‘Look, Ellen! corals like Di’s necklace! corals growing on trees!’ * * * * * “The memory passes, and she sees another scene. The room is darkened; she is sitting by a bed. A child lies on it, tossing restlessly, and all the pretty hair has been cut off. She hears a fretful voice say repeatedly, ‘Sing, Ellen; Ellen, sing.’ And softly, over and over again until weary, she hears herself singing an old ballad to the child:-- “‘London Bridge is broken down, _Dance over my lady lea_; London Bridge is broken down _With a gay lady_. How shall we build it up again? _Dance over my lady lea_; How shall we build it up again? _With a gay lady_. Wood and clay will wash away, _Dance over my lady lea_; Wood and clay will wash away _With a gay lady_. Silver and gold will be stolen away, _Dance over my lady lea_; Silver and gold will be stolen away _With a gay lady_.