earnestness and truth, and beautiful with those grand, mournful eyes, whose mesmeric spell was felt by Zuleime, on whom they were now brought to bear. “Take a seat, Mrs. Fairfax. You find me here in great confusion, because I have but just arrived, and have had to unpack and look over all these trunks, to select and prepare no less than four costumes for the evening,” said the same rich, full, deep tones, as their owner cleared a chair of spangled robes and plumes, and offered it to her visitor. “Mother is going to wear _this_ dress this evening—isn’t it pretty?” said Ida, climbing upon the foot of the bed. Zuleime turned her eyes with childish interest towards the robes; and Mrs. Knight, observing her look of curiosity, said— “They form a portion of the Queen Katherine costume. They are going to bring out Henry VIII., this evening.” Zuleime glanced from the costume to the haggard, but noble looking woman, and thought that she might represent the unhappy Queen very well, as far as personal appearance would go, but instead of expressing this opinion, she said— “The young German girl told me that you wanted some assistance in needle-work. I shall be glad to help you.” The dark, mournful eyes rose slowly, and grew still, looking at the young widow, in whom they now began to recognize that most piteous of all beings—_a reduced lady_. “Sit down—pray sit down,” she said, to Zuleime, who still remained standing. Zuleime took the vacant chair. “Would you object, Mrs. Fairfax, to sitting with me while you sew? There are alterations to be made in these four Queen Katherine dresses, in which you would require my advice.” Zuleime hesitated, and then answered— “I should not like to leave my little child alone, madam.” “Let me!—let me!—let me go up and stay with the baby!” eagerly interrupted Ida, jumping down from the bed, and running up and seizing the hand of her mother. The dark eyes sank fondly on the little one, and the rich voice—richer now with maternal love, replied— “Certainly you may go, if the lady will permit you to do so.” Zuleime hesitated again, then said— “Thank you. I shall be very glad. Let me go up first, and make the fire safe.” And she left the room, followed by Ida, who ran back first, to throw her arms around her mother’s neck, and kiss her “good-bye.” When Zuleime reached her room, she placed the blower before the grate, for safety—hid away all implements with which the children might harm themselves, and leaving the little ones at play upon the rag carpet, returned below stairs, and went to work. Her new occupation was indeed of an odd and miscellaneous description—ripping off gold lace, and sewing in its place imitation sable; trimming buskins, and lastly, making up an ancient coiffure, all under the direction of the shadowy-faced woman, who, all this time, sat upon the trunk, with a tattered play-book on her knee, studying her part. Zuleime spoke of Ida—her beauty, her charming manner.