“Rowena! My dear child, you are not tall enough by five inches, and lack the proper dignity. Mrs. Savage must have done this—she always was my enemy from her girlhood; that is—that is, from the first time I dawned upon her life. Let me ask you a question, Georgiana.” “Be quick, then, please; for I want the pearls.” “Was Mrs. Savage aware that I was an inmate of this house when she selected you to represent the most queenly character in Sir Walter Scott’s novel. I particularly wish to know.” “I—I should think it very likely,” answered Georgiana, driving a laugh from her lips which broke from her eyes in a gush of mischief. “It is now six months since you came here.” “She knew it, and yet invited another. This is life—this is ingratitude! Has she no remembrance of the time when we two—— But why should I dwell on that painful epoch of my life? Georgiana, you shall have the pearls. Let me complete this soul’s martyrdom. Where is my trunk?” “In the store-room, I think.” “There again! Relics of the past huddled together in a common store-room—and such relics!” “Nothing ever was more beautiful!” said the young lady, proceeding with her toilet; “only do bring them along!” Miss Eliza stalked out of the room with a key grasped in her hands, measuring off her steps like Juno in a fit of heathenish indignation. She returned directly, bearing in her hand a faded red-morocco case, the size of a soup-plate, and considerably battered at the edges. Seating herself in an arm-chair, she opened the case, and began to shake her head lugubriously over the snow-white pearls that gleamed upon her from their neat purple satin. Georgiana looked eagerly over her shoulder. “Oh, Miss Eliza, I didn’t begin to know how beautiful they were: so large, so full of milky light! No wonder you prize them!” “Alas! it is not their beauty,” sighed Miss Eliza. “Here, take them, child; they were intended for a more queenly brow, but I yield to destiny.” Miss Eliza rendered up the case as if it had contained flowers for a coffin, shrouded her features in a corner of the lace anti-macassar which covered the maroon cushions of her easy-chair, and allowed a touching little sob to break from her lips. “Oh! the associations that are connected with those ornaments!” she moaned. “Now I will render them doubly dear,” laughed the young girl, laying the white spray on the golden braids of her hair, and moving her head about like a bird pluming itself. “Destiny! destiny!” murmured Aunt Eliza. “Beautiful! beautiful!” responded Georgia; and, running into a neighboring dressing-closet, she came forth a lady of the olden times, that might have danced with the lion-hearted Richard. Aunt Eliza gave one glance at the radiant young creature, rose from her chair, and left the room, wringing her hands like a tragedy queen.