"Whether gay wit, and humour sly SIR WALTER SCOTT. "YES, my dear, yes, I expect him directly, but sit down, there is no need for you to hurry away, he will like to find a young face to greet him." The speaker was a tall, thin, elderly lady, with rather a nervous expression of countenance, and her words were addressed to a little girl, who was standing irresolute near the door of the room, looking as if she would fain remain, and yet thought that she ought to go. The question was decided by the sound of approaching carriage wheels, which occasioned from both an exclamation of "Here he is!" while the little girl added in a bashful yet eager manner, May we not go down to the hall and meet him, Mrs. Branscombe ?" This suggestion apparently did not accord with Mrs. Branscombe's notions of propriety; she settled herself with stately composure upon the sofa, and bade her little companion be seated also, saying, "No, never mind, my dear, it is not as if I were expecting some timid young girl; the boy will soon find his way up here, and by going into the hall, when the front door is open, I should certainly increase my cold." The child made a little petulant movement with her shoulders, as if this answer was far from satisfying her, but she said nothing, and sat down as she was bid, though on the extreme edge of the chair, and in a manner that seemed to say, "I will fly off the very instant I am allowed." There was a noise as of the moving of trunks in the hall below, then a wild scamper on the stairs, and into the quiet drawing-room rushed a boy of about twelve years of age, with a large Newfoundland dog following close at his heels. His curly brown hair hung in picturesque untidiness round his open brow, his large blue eyes were full of frankness, mirth, and mischief, his white teeth gleamed between his parted lips in a smile of unmistakeable good-humour; but there was no propriety about him, not a bit, and both he and his dog, fine creatures as they were, looked somewhat out of place in that elegant well-ordered drawing-room. He seemed to feel this himself, for he suddenly assumed an air of abashed constraint, and hushing the gambols of his dog with a peremptory "Down, Nial, down," advanced quietly towards Mrs. Branscombe, greeting her in a palpably Irish accent as Aunt Isabella." She rose, and kissed him with as much warmth as her stiff manner would allow of, and a keen observer might have noticed a certain glistening in those cold grey eyes of hers, that belied the composure with which she said, "You are very welcome, my dear Brian; I am sorry your uncle is not at home to receive you, he was called away suddenly on business this morning, much to his regret." Her nephew looked up at her as she spoke with a strange wistful expression, which she could hardly interpret, but he only said, "Thank you," in a shy, embarrassed tone, and then stood awkwardly twisting the fringe of one of the sofa coverlets into a series of inextricable knots. It seemed quite a relief to him when the little girl, who had hitherto kept modestly in the background, came forward at his aunt's call, and holding out her hand, said pleasantly, "How do you do? I am so glad you are come, I hope we shall be friends." He looked into her frank smiling face, as if it were the pleasantest thing in the world to him, and replied with a cordiality which left no doubt of his inclination for friendship. "This is a near neighbour of ours," said Mrs. Branscombe, laying her hand on the little maiden's head. "Her father, Mr. Merivale, our vicar, lives in that pretty gabled house near the church, which you must have passed on your way here. He is kind enough to say that he hopes he may often see you there, as his children will be nice companions for you. Sibylla here, is about your own age." The slight tiny damsel looked up in amazement at hearing that she was almost the same age as the tall manly boy, whose shoulder she but just reached. "I am only eleven," she said, "and my brothers are quite little fellows, so I'm afraid you won't care much to play with us. Perhaps, however, you will put up with us till your cousin Harold comes home for the holidays; when will Harold be here, Mrs. Branscombe ?" "The end of next month, I hope, but his Easter holiday is always very short. Dear boy! how glad we shall be to see him again. You and he are quite strangers to each other, Brian, but I am sure you will like him: everyone likes my Harold. Mine I call him, for ever since he came from India, ten years ago, he has spent all his holidays here, and has become quite like a son to me." Brian marked with surprise the kindling face and softened tone with which his aunt spoke of her favourite nephew, and which was rendered the more noticeable by her immediate resumption of her colder tones, as turning to him, she offered to conduct him to his room, and told him she had had some refreshment prepared for him. The little Sibylla Merivale here took a smiling leave of Mrs. Branscombe and Brian, but to the latter's amusement, she paused on her way to the door, and made an arch sprightly curtsey to a picture which hung against the wall. In answer to his look of curiosity, she said with a roguish laugh, "That is the portrait of your cousin Harold, Harold the Dauntless,' as papa calls him; he told me one day that I did not treat him with sufficient respect, so ever since that I have curtseyed to him whenever I have seen him, and sometimes-just for fun-I curtsey to his picture." Brian laughed, but Mrs. Branscombe looked a little annoyed. "You are a saucy little maid, Sibylla," she said, shaking her head at the merry child, "I am afraid your papa spoils you." "Not a bit, not one tiniest bit," Sibyl answered gaily, "you must not charge one morsel of my faults on papa; and you know I like Harold very |