Chapter IV.

"Ungracious wretch,
Fit for the mountains, and the barbarous caves
Where manners ne'er were preached! Out of my sight."
-- _Twelfth Night._

On the morning of the following day, Mona Mac-
donald sat at breakfast in a room at Stillyside. She
was plainly and neatly dressed; and with her sat
a figure more lady-like, and still in her teens, attired
simply, but with negligent taste. Both seemed ab-
stracted, and, as they silently sipped their tea, ap-
peared to be brooding over some recent, sad subject of
conversation. The weather, too, without, was as
sombre as the mood within. A canopy of cold, grey
clouds covered the sky; the air was chilly, and the
wind swayed the trees to and fro, betokening rain.
From time to time the cat, with arched back, and
tail erect, came loudly purring, and rubbing its sleek
sides against the skirts of its mistresses; the lap-dog
was restless; and upon the hearthrug a drowsy
spaniel lay with his nose between his paws, and
whined fitfully in a dog's day-dream; whilst the fe-
males, at length altogether ceasing to eat, sat self-
absorbed. On the face of the elder was an expression
of sorrow tempered with patience, but on that of the
younger, an air of melancholy was mingled with
resentment, that heightened almost into majesty
a form and countenance of extraordinary and statu-
esque beauty. From time to time her companion re-

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v?