Lotte trembled and looked very pale, and then red. She would then and there have ended the interview if she had given way to her natural impulse, but she knew how earnestly Helen wished to learn what had followed her departure from home; and so, for her sake, she said-- “Sir, it may appear strange, after what has just passed, that I should seem to desire to prolong this interview, but I have a question or two to ask of you.” “I shall be delighted to answer any questions you may put to me, if I can do so.” She made a brave effort to seem collected, while he was admiring the graceful line from her head to her shoulder, as her face was averted, and then she turned to him and said-- “I have no desire to be improperly inquisitive, sir, nor to wound your feelings by the questions I may put to you; but I have a good motive, and no injury to you or your family can result from your answering me freely.” “Very nice,” answered Malcolm--“pray go on.” “You have no member of your family ill, I believe?” commenced Lotte, with a beating heart, for she knew there was another ear beside her own who would greedily drink in all his replies. “No--no,” he returned, unsuspiciously. “No; I don’t often see the governor, for he is much engaged; and when he is not, he is something like a porcupine--not to be too closely approached. As for ma, I never knew her to be ill. It is undignified, so she don’t condescend to have an ailment; and my sister Margaret thinks as she does--ha! ha! No, they are well enough,” he concluded. “But,” said Lotte, pursuing her point, “you have other sisters.” “Ah! yes--oh, ay!” he responded; “there is little Eva. Upon my honour, I had forgotten her, really--how droll! Well, she is not, I think, in good health--she is white-faced; she frets a great deal--goes into corners, and cries; walks into the garden, and cries; wanders over the house, and cries. She’s a regular little pump--a fountain’s nothing to her--ha! ha!” “Why does she fret?” inquired Lotte, with hesitation. A slight colour came into Malcolm’s face. “I can’t tell,” he returned; “nobody can tell. I hardly think she knows herself, excepting that she has lost a pet and favourite, and she is mourning for that. Stupid, isn’t it?” “There was, I think, an elder sister to those you have named.” Malcolm coughed, and grew red in the face. “You have not mentioned Miss Helen Grahame--what of her?” Malcolm appeared unpleasantly disconcerted; presently he said-- “Dead!” Lotte started back astounded, and echoed the word in such an incredulous tone that Mr. Malcolm added-- “That is, to us. Excuse me, but you are touching on a tender point--a family matter.”