"And died young, sir; perhaps because she was an idol," replied he. "They don't live long, sir, these creatures. They're like some of those bright winged things of the East, of which I have read, that exist only so long as the rose blooms on which they hang and live. But my lady Lillah never dwined--only there came a sadness over her, and master noticed that she began to cherish more than usual a miniature which she carried about with her in her bosom--the figure of a lady--I have seen it often--so like herself you'd have said they were of the same family--'twas her mother, whom she called Euphrosyne. Even now I think I see her sitting in the rose arbour in the garden, with little Caleb by her side, gazing at that picture, so long, so thoughtfully, so pitifully that she seemed ready to weep; then she would, as if recalled by remorse, hug the child, and bid him run for his father; then Mr. Bernard would no sooner come than she would be so much more loving than was even her wont, that he seemed oppressed by the very fervour of her affection. Master was a quiet man, sir, and full of thought; and he soon saw that it would be good for my lady that she should have a companion. So the next thing we heard was that Amelia Temple, who had been governess over the muir at Abbey Field, and had been several times at Redcleugh with Mr. Orchardstoun's daughters, was engaged to come to us at the term. And she came. The wind did not whistle that night, nor the owl sound his horn; there was no omen, sir, and this will please you, though it does not shake me in my faith in heaven's warnings. You see Amelia there (holding up the candle, now nearly in the socket), I need not describe what the painter has copied so faithfully. But master did not look kindly on that face, beautiful as it is, with that flashing eye and joyful expression. No, 'twas not till my lady grew distractedly fond of her that he looked sweetly on her (in the right way) for the love she gave to and got from her he loved the best of all the world. Oh! 'twas a beautiful sight, sir, those women. The rose of the west was a match for the lily of the east; then the pensive sweetness of the one, and the innocent light-heartedness of the other, met and mingled in a friendship without guile--a love without envy." "Your last visit, Francis," I said, with a smile which I could not conceal, "must have been to the poets of the library." "'Tis only truth, sir," resumed he. "When one sees a beautiful thing and feels the beauty--a privilege which is probably never denied at all times to any of God's creatures, and does not belong exclusively to the high born or the learned--he is a poet, be he a gauger or a butler. Aye, sir, a man may be a poet when his nose is right over the mouth of a bottle of burgundy, vintage '81." "And not very poetical when he reflects that there is not a bottle left in the house," said I.