"Frank, do you blame me," she said, looking at me carefully--"for having you reared so quietly, far away in the country, in order that at the proper age, strong in health and rich in accomplishments and beauty, you might be prepared to enter upon the enjoyments and duties suitable to your station?" How could I blame her? I spoke gratefully again and again of the wealth and comfort which surrounded me, and then forgetting it all--broke forth into impassioned praise of my cottage home, of the good clergyman, of old Alice and--Ernest. Something which came over my mother's face at the mention of Ernest's name, warned me that it was not yet time to speak of my engagement to him. That night I bathed my limbs in a perfumed bath, laid my head on a silken pillow, and slept beneath a canopy of lace, as soft and light and transparent as the summer mist through which you can see the blue sky and the distant mountain. And resting on the silken pillow I dreamed--not of the splendor with which I was surrounded, nor of the golden prospects of my future,--but, of my childhood's home, and the quiet scenes of other days. In my sleep my heart turned back to them. Once more I heard the voice of the good old man. I heard the shrill tones of Alice, as the sun shone on my frosted window-pane, on a clear, cold winter morn. Then the voice of Ernest, calling me "Wife!" and pressing me to his bosom in the forest nook. I awoke with his name on my lips, and,---- My mother stood by the bedside gazing upon me attentively, a smile on her lips, but the wrinkle darkly defined between her brows. The sun shone brightly through the window curtains. "Get up my dear," she kissed me,--"You have a busy day before you." And it was a busy day! I was handed over to the milliners and dressmakers, and whirled in my carriage from one jeweler's shop to another. It was not until the third day that my dresses were completed--according to my mother's taste,--and not until the fourth, that the jewels which were to adorn my forehead, my neck, my arms and bosom, had been properly selected. Wardrobe and diamonds worthy of a queen--and was I happy? No! I began to grow homesick, for my dear quiet home, on the hill-side above the Neprehaun. CHAPTER XI. "SHE'LL DO." It was on the fourth day, in the afternoon, that my mother desired my presence in the parlor, where she wished to present me to a much esteemed friend, Mr. Wareham--Mr. Wallace Wareham. "An excellent man," whispered my mother as we went down stairs together, "and immensely rich." I was richly dressed in black; my neck, my arms and shoulders bare. My dark hair, gathered plainly aside from my face, was adorned by a single snow-white flower. As I passed by the mirror in the parlor, I could not help feeling a throb of womanly pride, or--vanity; and my mother whispered, "Frank, you excel yourself to-day."