and rather desolate, of course-dusty and damp."

All looked at Violet, who, with a look of

relief, said quietly:

"We will go in now, then. preparing me."

Thank you for

Certainly the air struck cold and damp as the party entered. First came a large, handsome boudoir, hung with rich curtains that were thick with cobwebs. Books were lying carelessly on tables, one was open and dim with dust. A piano stood open, a piece of music on the stand. Next a fine bed-room and dressing-room, ornaments on the tables, yellow lace round the glasses, rich dresses and dainty shoes in the former, and all things pertaining to man's toilet in the latter.

Silently, holding Jessie's hand tight, Violet realised about her all the evidences of her unremembered parents' presence; and when the nurseries were reached-when the halfbuilt castle of wooden bricks standing in one corner, the rocking-horse, whips, and carts in another, and dolls, yellow with age, sat on little chairs, lay in cradles, or on the floor, her face grew pale at the remembrance that all

who had lived their joyous life there were gone, and that she was, as her grandmother had said, "quite alone!"

"We have seen it all now," said Mr. Mordaunt, laying his hand gently on Violet's arm, "and I think my ward had better come out into the sunlight once more."

Mechanically the young countess obeyed, and, thinking she would like time to recover herself, Miss Mordaunt said:

"Shall we all disperse till luncheon, an hour hence?"

And so Violet, still holding Jessie fast, went to her own room, where tears relieved her of the strain of excitement and sorrow.

Mr. Mordaunt was intending to return to town that evening, but he was persuaded to remain until next day; for Violet said she would like to talk to him before he went. Therefore, a little before dinner, the young girl met her friends in the drawing-room, and herself reverted to the events of the morning, addressing her guardian:

Will you tell me, please, if I am in any way bound by my grandmother's will to leave that wing as it is?"

By no means," replied Mr. Mordaunt; "there is not a word about the matter in the will. On the contrary, I have a letter which Mr. Askew left for me to communicate to you when a fitting time should come, in which he expressly says that he believed your grandmother had many times regretted the hasty act of closing the rooms; but she had yielded for so many years-forgive me if I say in a morbid spirit to her grief, that she became incapable of making an effort in any other direction."

"Then you think I might have all changed -made like other places?"

"Most decidedly; and I applaud your wish," replied her guardian cordially.

"Violet," said Miss Mordaunt, advancing and taking the young countess's hands, "I am thankful for your decision. Make haste and let heaven's pure air and sunshine clear away the false cloud that hangs around your beautiful home. I am sure when the dust is gone, and all the unnatural appearances of neglect, that suite of rooms will be as cheerful as any in the house."

"Yes," said Violet, musingly; "I was thinking it would be a pleasant thing to use my

mother's boudoir when it is all made fresh and happy looking."

"The very thing!" exclaimed Mr. Mordaunt, becoming enthusiastic in his delight that Violet did not inherit morbid tendencies.

When you come up to London, let me help you choose things that will make it one of the most beautiful rooms a girl could wish for."

Just then Mr. Clayton arrived, and dinner was announced, and shortly Violet's health was drunk with all honours. Then after this day came long discussions between the two guardians as to Violet's introduction to the great world and presentation at Court. It was finally decided that the great home in London must be prepared, and that in June these great events must take place.

"We are so happy here! Why may we not go on as we are?" was the young countess's first exclamation, when Mr. Mordaunt came down to announce the decision.

"Because the world has claims on you; and if we did not enforce those claims on you, the world would have a right to say we were trying to keep you all to ourselves," said Mr. Mordaunt in his quiet, firm voice.

CHAPTER XIX.

IN June, and a real summer June, when clustering roses did not shrink and tremble in breezes that would have done credit to March; when nature wore her own sweet splendour with an air of calm content, and when farmers had to invent causes for their hereditary grumble, for they could find none in the fair prospect of the green corn-fields they surveyed; in that sweet summer month our young heroine left all the beauties of her country home, and entered upon her first season in hot, dusty London.

First came the presentation at Court, and then a perfect whirl of excitement and change. For some weeks Violet could scarcely have described her sensations. Every one strove to do her honour, and in every one's mouth were praises of her beauty and grace. Young as she was, she could not but feel how all this