Pink May, too! Ah, how it brings the old house at home to memory, and the old English hedgerows!" "May mornings too, and May queens, eh?" laughed Gilbert. "Do you not admire that crimson passion-flower?" "Oh, that is magnificent! that is rare! That, dear Gilbert, brings the court-not the cottage-to view." "Mrs. Owen is admiring your flowers, Miss Spencer," said Gilbert, advancing with extended hand and a smile, to the other end of the balcony, where the young lady was standing, feeding a pet canary, whose handsome cage hung suspended by a silken cord from the roof. She had not seen their approach, but turned with a frank smile of welcome. "It is very kind of you, Mr. Owen, to bring her so soon to see us. I was afraid we should have to wait for our visit a long time. You come so seldom to see us." She glanced half-timidly at the window as she spoke, and, without waiting for reply, drew Emily's hand in her arm, and led her into the house. "Lilian, at any rate, is not quite so indifferent to the minister's visits as he suspects," thought the young wife, as she followed her conductor through the spacious hall, the light of which was softened by its passage through stained glass, which threw rays of gold and crimson and violet to the floor. They stopped at a room on the right hand, and Lilian, throwing the door open, whispered softly-"Papa is in town just now; but mamma, I know, will be very glad to see you," and then ushered them into her presence. And if Emily had indulged any previous doubts as to the wealth or aristocracy of the owner of Hawthorn Vale, the luxury and refinement of that room would have solved them all: the softened, modulated light that fell through the open windows, half shielded by heavy hangings that swept the floor, throwing the room half into shadow. But she could see, even in that first moment, that richly-bound books, graceful statuettes, and flowers, were scattered everywhere, and that music also lent its magic charm to all the rest-for a superb piano stood in one corner of the room. This she took in at a single glance, as they stood a second at the entry. The next moment they passed with noiseless. steps over the rich carpet, and a tall, graceful woman rose to meet them, with extended hand and the kind words, "We are very glad to welcome Mrs. Owen to Glen Ness." Mrs. Spencer was a noble-looking old lady, less fragile than her daughter-far more like her son. Her eyes were his clear and beaming; and the kindly smile, though a little mingled with hauteur occasionally. The soft grey hair was not folded away beneath her delicate lace cap, but gathered in curls on either side her temples, and the complexion was still clear and fair, and not too deeply touched by time. From that delicate lace cap to the rich black satin, whose glossy folds swept the carpet, Mrs. Spencer looked a fitting mistress for the beautiful home she possessed, and yet Emily could not help looking back with a half-sigh to the warm, cordial, loving reception the Gordons had given her. They sat together, sipping wine out of rich cutglass and eating strawberries-some of the first Glen Ness had produced, and talking on every subject but the one proscribed-books, music, foreign scenery, everything but that dear tabooed theme. It was curious to notice the effect of a few casual remarks that Gilbert made of a religious kind—the frigid coldness, the impassive smile, the pursing of the thin lips on one hand; but above all, Lilian's half-terrified glance at the speaker and the spoken to. "Hereby is there a tale revealed," thought Emily. "No wonder dear Gilbert finds it painful to make these visits." On one of these occasions, when Gilbert was either unable or unwilling to withhold the truth, Lilian almost abruptly changed the subject by asking Emily if she played, following her affirmative reply by a request that she would favour them; and Emily, who was half-trembling at the result of her husband's temerity, gained sufficient courage to take her seat at the piano, and, summoning memory to aid, she played a very pretty little nocturne, with which she had many a time amused her maiden hours. "Your touch is very delicate and sweet, Mrs. Owen," said Lilian, "and that nocturne is a lovely one. I am afraid you will think that my style is too florid and noisy-at least, Hugh tells me so. I am glad sometimes," she whispered, as she bent over her music in search of a piece, "to drown other sounds as well as thoughts with my noise. This soft, sweet music goes too deeply down into the heart," and she placed her hand upon hers, as though she was striving to press back a pain; and dashing a few hot tears that sprung impetuously to her blue eyes, and setting firmly the softly-curved lips, that would tremble, as though determined she would not feel, she ran her fingers over the keys in a brilliant fantasia, the beauty of which chiefly consisted in the rapid execution of an infinite succession of notes. Gilbert Owen rose to leave as she quitted her place at the piano. "This is a very short visit, Mrs. Owen. I hope, now you know the way, you will soon come again. We are much alone," said Mrs. Spencer, as she walked with them to the door of the room, and took a graceful leave of them there. "Do come again, Mrs. Owen," said Lilian, as she stood a moment at the white gate; "you will perhaps like us better when you know more of us," and turning abruptly, she ran back to the house, while the minister and his wife proceeded homewards also. "And what do you think of this visit, dear Emily? Unsatisfactory, -eh, love?" "Not wholly so, dear Gilbert. There is something about Lilian that puzzles and pleases me, and gives me hope," and she related the little whispered incident that had passed. "The wind bloweth where it listeth; thou hearest the sound thereof, but canst not tell where it cometh or whither it goeth. So is every one that is born of the Spirit," repeated Gilbert, solemnly, as they entered their own little gate. CHAPTER XII. THE COTTAGE AMONG THE ROCKS. "Wide was his cure, the houses far asunder, THE first few weeks of Emily's married life was one round of visiting or receiving visits. All Glen Ness and its neighbourhood seemed anxious to be early acquainted with the minister's wife. Those even who rarely or never entered the chapel, did not exempt themselves on that account. Dr. Bayment, and Mr. Cross the schoolmaster, were among the latter number. And Mrs. Clifford, the landlady of the "Glen Ness Arms," and Mr. and Mrs. Bennet, the store-keepers at the extreme end of the village, thought a visit from them a duty at once incumbent and pleasing. To return all these visits became, after a time, very wearying, and Emily began to long for a little period of home quiet. It came at last, a few days of perfect rest—not before she needed it. Indeed, the last two or three visitors who called Gilbert excluded her from seeing at all. She had had enough of excitement and fatigue for a time, at any rate, and a little rest G |