As she descended, the hall door was open, and she looked out. How beautiful, on this bright May morning, was the parsonage and its surroundings,—a wilderness of flowers, shrubs, and trees, with the old church spire rising from the midst. Upon any other former day, this sweet rural landscape would have filled the heart of Estelle with delight; now, however, she only saw that it was lovely, and passed on to the door on the right, leading into the parlor. The family were already gathered there. As she opened the door, Mr. Oldfield arose and came to meet her, and with a kind— “Good-morning, my child; I hope you have rested well,” led her to the table. Mrs. Oldfield treated her with stately courtesy. And Mr. Trevor, with a smile and bow, placed a chair for her use. Breakfast, that seemed only to await her arrival, was immediately served. During that meal Mrs. Oldfield never, except in strict necessity, addressed her fair guest; and when she spoke it was with the most ceremonious politeness. There was nothing to complain of, yet Lady Montressor felt depressed and chilled; but she accepted this, as all else, in the submissive spirit of expiation. Immediately after breakfast Mr. Trevor, whose charge lay in the neighborhood of Montressor Castle, in the adjoining county of Dorset, took leave, saying, as he held the hand of Lady Montressor: “Though I depart from your presence, I remain in your service, my child. When I can render you any assistance, command me; I am ever at your orders.” “I earnestly thank you, sir,” replied Estelle. Mr. Trevor was gone. Mr. Oldfield went out to make parish calls. And Lady Montressor was left alone with her hostess, who, though polite, was not congenial. Soon, therefore, Estelle retired to her chamber. Her faithful maid had set the room in order, and was now engaged in unpacking and hanging up her dresses in the two clothes closets that flanked the fire-place. They formed a part of that rich, tasteful, and costly trousseau that had been provided for her bridal day’s vanities,—trifles certainly they were at most; yet as mementos of the past, the past, but only yesterday, yet seeming, by the yawning gulf that divided it from to-day, so far apart, so long ago!—it was painful to see them again! So Susan Copsewood instinctively felt, and she hurried them out of sight. “Have they sent my pocket Bible among the rest, Susan?” “Yes, my lady, here it is,” and the faithful girl handed it to her mistress. Lady Montressor received the blessed volume with reverence, and sinking into her arm-chair, opened its pages to seek for light and strength and comfort. “Be not afraid of them that kill the body, and after that have no more that they can do; but I will forewarn you whom you shall fear: Fear him which after he hath killed, hath power to cast into hell; yea, I say unto you, fear him.”