arm-chairs to each side of the fireplace, when the stopping of a chair in the hall announced Lady Marchmont. Ethel flew to the top of the stairs to meet her; and, in a few moments, each stood by the fire in all the eagerness of welcome.
Tea was poured out, and each began to tell the other the many events that had taken place since their parting. Much, indeed, had occurred: they parted, girls; they met, women. A deeper meaning was in the face of either than when they sat with the moonlight falling over them beside the little fountain. They looked eagerly on each other, and felt that they were changed: there was as much, perhaps more beauty, but there was less brightness. The mind, more than the heart, gave its impression to the features. The blush came not at every second word; the cheek of either was paler; and Ethel's had an appearance of delicate health, very different from the morning bloom that it formerly wore.
There was an habitual sarcasm on Lady Marchmont's finely cut lip, and Ethel's smile
