“Not _always_ excepting you—I like your spirit tempered a little—thus—look again into the mirror, Hagar; I said your glittering blue-black ringlets, smoothed and gemmed as they are, form an agreeable contrast to the harmony of your dress; but now suppose that black hair hung in the wild elf locks of the little savage of the heath, as I first knew her—would that be agreeable any way?—no—well! govern—as it were, smoothe and gem your piquancy; in a word, use your wildness as you do your hair,” and they turned and reseated themselves. The next morning, after breakfast, Raymond took her all over the house; there were two floors besides the basement and attic—on each floor four large rooms handsomely furnished. Through the middle of each floor ran a hall, from front to back, dividing the rooms in pairs; on the lower floor on the left hand side of the hall were the drawing-room and dining-room we have seen them use on the first evening of their arrival; on the right hand side was a large saloon, once used for balls, but now closed as useless. He took her through the grounds, all handsomely laid out; a vineyard on the right, a kitchen garden in the middle, and an orchard on the left, occupying the ground behind the house, and further behind ascended the wooded hills. A smooth lawn descending the hill towards the river, was dotted here and there with trees, which were now dropping their leaves. The orchard was laden with the finest fruit—apples, peaches, pears, &c., under the highest cultivation; the vineyard rich in clustering grapes, brought to the nearest possible state of perfection. This was Wednesday; on the following Monday Raymond resumed his professional labors, and Hagar wandered up and down the fine house, with every part of which she was now quite familiar, very weary and lonesome. She felt confined, restrained, and oppressed by her new state. True, she was still in the country, but not on her wild heath, with her horse and dogs. _This_ country was thickly settled, well cultivated, and closely studded with gentlemen’s seats. CHAPTER XXVI. THE LOVE ANGEL. “She is soft as the dew-drops that fall From the lips of the sweet scented pea; But then when she smiles upon _all_! Can I joy that she smiles upon _me_?” MACKENZIE. Our dear Sophie, with her quiet adaptiveness, had easily and gracefully passed from rustic life into city life, into naval life, without losing any of her individuality. Her country every-day dress of brown stuff was now changed for a brown satin, her seal-skin shoes for patent morocco slippers, and her muslin collar for one of fine lace. Her smooth brown hair, instead of being knotted into a neat twist behind her head, was arranged in a beautiful braid.