A Changed Heart. May Agnes Fleming

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СКАЧАТЬ me, that's a pity! Who are you in black for?"

      There was a pause—then Miss Rose answered, still without looking up:

      "For my father."

      "Oh, for your father! Has he been long dead? Another cup, if you please. Betsy Ann knows how to make nice coffee."

      "He has been dead ten months," said Miss Rose, a flash of intolerable pain dyeing her pale cheeks at this questioning.

      "How do you think you'll like Speckport?" went on the dauntless Miss Jo. "It's not equal to Montreal or New York, they tell me, but the Bluenoses think there's no place like it. Poor things! if they once saw Dublin, it's little they'd think of such a place as this is."

      "Halte là!" cried Charley; "please to remember, Miss Jo, I am a native, to the manner born, an out-and-out Bluenose, and will stand no nonsense about Speckport! There's no place like it. See Speckport and die! Mother, I'll trouble you for some of that toast."

      "Won't you have some, Miss Rose?" said Mrs. Marsh. "You ain't eating anything."

      "Not any more, thank you. I like Speckport very much, Miss Blake; all I have seen of it."

      "That's right, Miss Rose!" exclaimed Charley; "say you like fog and all. Are you going to commence teaching to-day?"

      "I should prefer commencing at once. Miss Marsh said she was coming this morning, did she not?" Miss Rose asked, lifting her shy brown eyes to Mrs. Marsh.

      "Yes, dear. Charley, what time did Natty go home last night?"

      "She didn't go home last night; it was half-past two this morning."

      "Did she walk?"

      "No; the old lady sent that wheelbarrow of hers after her."

      "Wheelbarrow!" cried his mother, aghast. "Why, Charley, what do you mean?"

      "It's the same thing," said Charley. "I'd as soon go in a wheelbarrow as that carryall. Such a shabby old rattle-trap! It's like nothing but the old dame herself."

      "Charley, you ought to be ashamed of yourself. Did you go with her?"

      "Not I! I was better engaged. Another gentleman offered his services, but she declined."

      "Who was it? Captain Locksley?"

      "No, another captain—Captain Cavendish."

      "Did he want to go home with Natty?" asked Miss Jo, with interest. "I thought he was more attentive to her than to Jane McGregor! Why wouldn't she have him?"

      "She would look fine having him—an utter stranger! If it had been Locksley, it would have been different. See here, Miss Rose," Charley cried, springing up in alarm, "what is the matter?"

      "She is going to faint!" exclaimed Miss Jo, in consternation. "Charley, run for a glass of water."

      Miss Rose had fallen suddenly back in her seat, her face growing so dreadfully white that they might well be startled. It was nothing for Miss Rose to look pale, only this was like the pallor of death. Charley made a rush for the water, and was back in a twinkling, holding it to her lips. She drank a portion, pushed it away, and sat up, trying to smile.

      "I am afraid I have startled you," she said, as if necessary to apologize, "but I am not very strong, and——"

      Her voice, faltering throughout, died entirely away; and, leaning her elbows on the table, she bowed her forehead on her hands. Miss Jo looked at her with compressed lips and prophetic eye.

      "You'll never stand that school, Miss Rose, and I thought so from the first. Them girls would try a constitution of iron, let alone yours."

      Miss Rose lifted her white face, and arose from the table.

      "It is nothing," she said, faintly. "I do not often get weak, like this. Thank you!"

      She had gone to the window, as if for air, and Charley had sprung forward and opened it.

      "Does the air revive you, or shall I fetch you some more water?" inquired Charley, with a face full of concern.

      "Oh, no! indeed, it is nothing. I am quite well now."

      "You don't look like it," said Miss Jo; "you are as white as a sheet yet. Don't you go near that school to-day, mind."

      Miss Rose essayed a smile.

      "The school will do me no harm, Miss Blake—thank you for your kindness all the same."

      Miss Jo shook her head.

      "You ain't fit for it, and that you'll find. Are you off, Charley?"

      "Very hard, isn't it, Miss Jo?" said Charley, drawing on his gloves. "But I must tear myself away. Old Pestle and Mortar will be fit to bastinado me for staying till this time of day."

      "Look here, then," said Miss Jo, "have you any engagement particular for this evening?"

      "Particular? no, not very. I promised Natty to spend the evening up at Redmon, that's all."

      "Oh, that's nothing, then. I want you and your mother, and Miss Rose, to come over to our house this evening, and take a cup of tea. I'll get Natty to come, too."

      "All right," said Charley, boyishly, taking his wide-awake. "I'll take two or three cups if you like. Good morning, all. Miss Rose, don't you go and use yourself up in that hot school-room to-day."

      Off went Charley, whistling "Cheer, boys, cheer!" and his hands rammed down in his coat-pockets; and Miss Jo got up and took her bonnet.

      "You'll be sure to come, Mrs. Marsh, you and Miss Rose, and come nice and early, so as we can have a chat."

      "Certainly," said Mrs. Marsh, "if Miss Rose has no objection."

      Miss Rose hesitated a little, and glanced at her mourning dress, and from it to Miss Jo, with her soft, wistful eyes.

      "I have not gone out at all since—since——"

      "Yes, dear, I know," said Miss Jo, kindly, interrupting. "But it isn't a party or anything, only just two or three friends to spend a few hours. Now, don't make any objection. I shall expect you both, without fail, so good-bye."

      With one of her familiar nods, Miss Jo strode out, and nearly ran against a young lady, who was opening the gate.

      "Is it you, Miss Jo? You nearly knocked me down! You must have been up with the birds this morning, to get here so soon."

      The speaker was a young lady who had been at Mrs. McGregor's the previous night; a small, wiry damsel, with sallow face, thin lips, dull, yellow, lusterless hair, and light, faded-looking eyes. She was not pretty, but she looked pleasant—that is, if incessant smiles can make a face pleasant—and she had the softest and sweetest of voices—you could liken it to nothing but the purring of a cat; and her hands were limp and velvety, and catlike too.

      Miss Jo nodded her recognition.

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