They were the usual formal congratulations for the most part: one, from the old squire, gently blamed his daughter for not having taken her father into her confidence; "but the ways of women, my dear, are mysterious, and I suppose that explains it." As Lucy read the words the tears ran down her cousin's face. One other letter yet remained; it was addressed in a crabbed hand; its contents were as follows: "Walls End Castle. "MY DEAR CHILD, "Miss Warrender's letter has quite taken me by surprise; I had not the slightest inkling that I should have so soon to congratulate you both on the happy event. It gives me great pleasure to do so; though I have known you, my dear, for so short a time, you have inspired me with feelings of the liveliest affection. I need not say I am greatly gratified to hear that it is a little boy. The great terror of my old age, the not unremote possibility of the extinction of my house, which always preyed upon my mind, is now removed. I shall hope to welcome the little man here ere long, and with affectionate remembrance to your cousin, "I am, my dear child, "Yours affectionately, "PIT TOWN." The ladies had retired for the night. A heavy mist hung over the lake, but a red spark moved slowly up and down the little terrace in front of the Villa Lambert; the spark indicated the presence of Mr. Capt, who was awaiting with lover-like impatience the arrival of the discreet Hephzibah. At length she appeared, muffled in a heavy shawl. "Have done, do, Capt," said the maiden with indignation, as the valet imprinted a salute on her pallid lips. "I haven't commenced, my beloved, yet," retorted he. "Will it be an indiscretion to hope that Miss Hephzibah has enjoyed herself, and that the separation from her beloved Maurice has produced ever so slight a depression?" said he as he attempted to take her hand. "Stuff," replied the Englishwoman with an indignant snort. Here the conversation took a distinctly amatory turn, and would probably hardly interest the reader. But, under the influences of the blind god, the stern student of the "Dairyman's Daughter" seemed to thaw. She took the proffered arm of her adorer, and, like all women in love, seemed to derive a pleasure from the peculiarly pungent aroma of his cigar. "And how did we pass our time, my Hephzibah; did we amuse ourselves? Have you nothing to tell me, my beloved, nothing to _confide_ to me?" The lady's maid shook her head. "Except that I've been worked off my legs as you may suppose, what can I have to tell you?" "Ah!" remarked the valet. "I can fancy that my Hephzibah always fulfils her duties to her mistress, but perhaps my too perfect angel forgets that between betrothed persons there should be no secrets." "You don't mean to say you're jealous, Capt?" she exclaimed, as she raised her face to his.