lake, with the softest wavelets rippling over its surface; and overhead the bright moon, surrounded by a host of glittering stars, was casting down her resplendent beams upon the rippling waters; and in the boat beside the bewildered maiden sat the Lady Jane Grey, dressed in silver tissue, and with a garland of lilies upon her head, firmly grasping the oar, and skilfully rowing the little craft along, singing as she did so, in a sweet musical voice

"The darkness is o'er, the peril is past,
The gentle moon has ris'n at last,

An' we'll merrily row,

An' gaily go

To the coral isles i' the depths below;

Ha, ha! we'll laugh-Tra, la, la, we'll sing,
As we link our hands in a merry ring-
Then smoothly row,

An' cheerily go

To the coral isles i' the depths below." 0.

"Dear heart!" thought sleeping Kitty, "my beautiful lady must forsooth have changed into a mermaid."

Then she awoke to hear the clatter of horses' hoofs in the courtyard, and to perceive that daydawn had arrived.

CHAPTER V.

THE NATIVE VILLAGE.

"Is she kind, as she is fair?

For beauty lives with kindness:

Love doth to her eyes repair,

To help him of his blindness;

And, being help'd, inhabits there."

TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA.

EVER did the village of Swithland look so fair to Kitty's eyes as on the day when, after her short sojourn at Seymour Place, she re-entered it for her holiday after her tedious journey on horseback.

It was summer-time, and to the girl's sight the woods looked thicker and greener than they had ever been before at the same season; the trout stream seemed to be more silvery, the meadows more verdant, and even the wild flowers by the wayside partook of this fancied increase of loveliHow true it is that

ness.

"Our eyes see all around, in gloom or glow,

Hues of their own, fresh borrowed from the heart."

As she passed along the familiar roads which led to the place, she recalled the time when she used to wander about in gleeful ignorance concerning coming "dark days," climbing the banks after dog-roses, honeysuckle, and convolvuli, losing her little red shoes in the muddy ditches, stinging her hands and arms, tearing her clothes in the brambles, and committing sundry other feats of mischief, to the continuous vexation of her father's housekeeper.

"Here be our Kitty!" exclaimed the boisterous Miss Norton, or as she rejoiced to be called "Mag," when she perceived the young waiting-maid, with an aged male attendant, making her way towards the notary's hospitable abode.

"Our Kitty," even the noisy portion of the family had called the girl ever since the day when for the first time she was sheltered by their father's roof, in her new position of a homeless orphan. In another moment the door of the house was opened wide, and Rowland stood bareheaded at the gate to welcome the guest who had previously found means to apprize the family of her intended visit. Then suddenly burst forth a simultaneous "Huzza!" from the lips of Mistress Mag and the brothers with whom she had so much mental affinity; and bounding forth in a noisy body, one took her horse by the bridle, another lifted her from his back, all kissed her heartily, and the whole party escorted

her with a "See the conquering hero" air to an inner apartment, where Mistress Norton, in utter ignorance of her arrival, sat, drawing one after another of her son's hose over her hands, dubiously regarding the apertures in heels and toes, and marvelling all the while, as she had often done before, how the lads did "contrive to make so much wear and tear in the short space of a week," it being but seven days since the same hose had been rendered perfectly sound and whole by the careful mother.

"Welcome! a right hearty welcome!" exclaimed Mistress Norton, when Kitty was unceremoniously dragged into the room where she sat by the exultant Mag and her two brothers. "Heyday, bonny bird," she continued, as she looked anxiously into the visitor's face, " methinks thou hast lost somewhat of thy plumpness, child. How cometh this? Be the princely folk kind to thee, eh, Kitty?"

66

'They be all most kind, dear Mistress Norton," was the unhesitating reply.

During these greetings Rowland had stood thoughtfully scanning the face of his old playfellow, and evidently he did not arrive at a satisfactory conclusion respecting her appearance, for he said,

"You do look pale, Kitty; methinks it is high time that you should breathe our sweet country air again. Let me remove thy warm gear."

He took the travelling cloak from her shoulders,

and before long the girl was seated in the midst of her friends, answering a host of eager questions about herself, and about matters which more or less affected her; and so the evening passed happily

away.

Early on the following day the lowing of cows in an adjacent farmyard reminded the youthful waiting-woman, almost before she was awake, that she was not at Seymour Place, and in spite of the weariness brought on by her journey she rose soon after the lark, and made her way into the garden.

"Ah!" thought she, as she tripped along beside the gay flowers upon which the shining dewdrops still hung, "truly this is a lovely scene, the sweet morning air maketh one feel right glad at heart. Methinks I could bound along the paths as I was used to do, when I was but a little child, shouting all the while in the height of my glee." And straightway she began to sing in loud clear tones some words which Rowland and she had often sung together—

"Right cheerily, cheerily, greet we the morn!

Joyful morn!

For no hour is sweeter than soft grey dawn

Soft grey dawn,

Then we'll up wi' the birds an' away to yon hill,

Where shadows of night do linger still

Away! away with a merry tra la !"

O.

The girl paused and listened, for either echo