"Yes, I know a lady who milked an Ayrshire heifer this very morning!" returned Mrs. Deborah, smiling. "But in general, we employ maids for such services. Did you have no menials, lasses, that the nuns put you to such work? I thought convents always had lay sisters!" "I believe they do in general, but our house was very poor, and the ladies did all the work with their own hands. Sister Lazarus who attended to the cooking was the daughter of a Marquis." "The daughter of a Marquis a cook!" said Mrs. Chloe, in, a tone of absolute consternation. "But perhaps she did that kind of work for a penance. I have heard of such things." "Oh no, aunt. She had a special vocation for cooking!" answered Amabel, gravely. "Well!" said Mrs. Chloe. "I have always fancied that it would be a good thing, if we had convents in the Church of England, but if that is the way—I hope they did not make a cook maid of you!" "No, aunt, Sister Lazarus always said I had not enough of recollection to be a good cook, but Lucy used to help her, and she learned to make a great many nice things." "Well, well, you shall tell Sister Chloe about it all at some other time!" said Mrs. Deborah, rising. "If you wish to go through the house, children, I have leisure just now to show it you. Sister Chloe, you had better remain by the fire." We were not a little anxious to see the house, and followed Mrs. Deborah with great interest as she led us through the long gallery hung with family portraits and a few good Spanish and Flemish pictures, brought from abroad by the same ancestor who imported the leather hangings. "Some day I will tell you the history of all these people!" said she, as she opened the door of the saloon. "I suppose you know nothing of your own family, niece Leighton?" "Scarcely anything, aunt. But oh, who is this beautiful lady?" exclaimed Amabel, stopping before a full-length picture which was revealed by the light from the open door of the saloon. A black silk curtain hung from the frame of the picture, but it was drawn aside. The figure was that of a woman of superb beauty, with large eyes and a queenly poise of the head. The expression of the face was haughty and resolute, yet had in it something—I know not what, which was not pleasing. I should call it a look of apprehension or rather of suspense, as though she were momently expecting the appearance of an enemy and were nerving herself to meet him. Mrs. Deborah frowned, and hastily drew the veil over the picture. "Who has dared!" she exclaimed, and then checking herself as by a strong effort. "There, never mind, child. I'll tell you the story some day, or you may ask old Elsie about it." Then as if to change the subject—"You must make old Elsie's acquaintance. She is one of the family curiosities, and very fond of young people." "Who is she, aunt?" I ventured to ask.