“I 'll do my best, for I love her dearly! She has so many ways, too, that suit an old body like myself. She's so quiet and so gentle, and she 'll sit over her work at the window there, and lay it down on her knee to look out over the sea, never saying a word, but smiling a little quiet smile when our eyes meet, as though to say, 'This is very peaceful and happy, and we have no need to tell each other about it, for we can feel it just as deeply.'” Oh, if she 'd only let Alice come to see her and sit with her, thought Tony; how she _would_ love her! Alice could be all this, and would, too; and then, what a charm she can throw around her with that winning smile! Was there ever sunshine like it? And her voice--no music ever thrilled through _me_ as that voice did. “I say, mother,” cried he, aloud, “don't say No; don't refuse her if she begs to come over now and then with a book or a few flowers; don't deny her merely because she's very rich and much courted and flattered. I pledge you my word the flattery has not spoiled her.” “Poor Dolly! it's the first time I ever heard that you were either rich or inn after! What 's the boy dreaming of, with his eyes staring in his head?” “I 'm thinking that I 'll go into Coleraine to-night, so as to be there when the mail arrives at six in the morning,” said Tony, recovering himself, though in considerable confusion. “Skeffy's room is all ready, isn't it?” “To be sure it is; and very nice and comfortable it looks too;” and as she spoke, she arose and went into the little room, on which she and Jenny had expended any amount of care and trouble. “But, Tony dear,” she cried out, “what's become of Alice Lyle's picture? I put it over the fireplace myself, this morning.” “And I took it down again, mother. Skeffy never knew Alice,--never saw her.” “It was n't for that I put it there; it was because she was a handsome lassie, and it's always a pleasant sight to look upon. Just bring it back again; the room looks nothing without it.” “No, no; leave it in your own room, in which it has always been,” said he, almost sternly. “And now about dinner to-morrow; I suppose we'd better make no change, but just have it at three, as we always do.” “Your grand friend will think it's luncheon, Tony.” “He 'll learn his mistake when it comes to tea-time; but I 'll go and see if there 's not a salmon to be had at Carrig-a-Rede before I start; and if I 'm lucky, I 'll bring you a brace of snipe back with me.” “Do so, Tony; and if Mr. Gregg was to offer you a little seakale, or even some nice fresh celery--Eh, dear, he 's off, and no minding me! He 's a fine true-hearted lad,” muttered she, as she reseated herself at her work; “but I wonder what's become of all his high spirits, and the merry ways that he used to have.”