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THE GHOST OF LEMON LANE. 462

“Nelly!” she said,

Eleanor Lemon gave a cry—one, no more, and stood stock still, staring.

Nelly,” the widow repeated, “don't you Know me? Come in! Come in!"

Eleanor advanced, her face flushing and paling, her eyes ready to start out of her head. Mrs. Seaton drew her into the cottage and shut the door.

Squire Lemon'a daughter returned to the house, an hour or so later, with a face ng radiant as the summer sunshine itself. The squire was at the study-window, gaziug absently at the little white cottage.

“Well, Nelly,” he said, without looking at her, and how do you like Mrs, Seaton?”

“I think she’s splendid, papa!” responded Eleanor, with a warmth that was genuine. “She's lovely! I could stay there forever and listen to her!"

«She's very fine woman—a very fine woman, said the squire, his eyes twinkling “Take her for your model, Nelly, and grow bright and I think I'll step down and see if the Kitchen don't want some fixing.

Which he did accordingly, whilst Miss Eleanor lay back and laughed, and laughed, and laughed, until the tears stood in her eyes,

“Poor, dear papa!” she said. “Oh! what fun it is and what will he say when ho finds it out!"

A week passed, The ghost of Lemon Lane was on its good behavior, and never once disturbed the repose of the sprightly young widow, She laughed and she sang, and might have exorcised a whole brigade of ghosts with the radiance of her smiling face. So Squire Lemon thought, and so Squire Lemon said one day, when under the intoxicating influence of bright badinage, brighter glances, and brightest smiles, he lost his head, and fairly blurted out his admiration, like a school-boy, who is under the influence of “early love.”

“I didn’t intend to speak so soon,” said the squire, mopping his flushed face, “but I think I'm bewitched when I'm with you, Mrs. Seaton. I'm dead in love, and that's the long and short of it; and if you'll love me, say so, and I'll make you Mrs. Lemon right off the reel!”

Mrs. Seaton was standing beside him. She sunk now upon a chair, and buried her face in ber handkerchief, whilst her stately form quivered with internal emotion.

“Oh, come now!” said the squire, shifting uneasily from one leg to the other, like an agitated gander, “don’t you take on, you know! You're young and handsome, but then you're a widow, which would be a drawback to some men; and I'm elderly and rich, and you shall live in clover for the rest of your life. Do say yes— dreadfully in earnest about this here!”

“It is so sudden, so unexpected!” faltered the widow. “Oh, dear, Mr. Lemon! I don't know what to say

“All right!” cried the squire; “that's as good as yes any day! We'll have a wedding in a week!"

“But your daughter?” murmured the widow, “she may object.”

“I should like to catch her at it!” retorted the wooer, “that's all! Object! What business is it of hers! She'll be bridemaid, if you say so; and we'll take her with us on a little wedding-trip to New York; and we'll go to the theatres, and to the Central Park, and if that doesn’t put George Lyon out of her head, I dont know what will! It's a bargain, isn't it?

“Yes; it was a bargain, Mrs, Seaton placed her hand in his, and murmured an inaudible something, and the compact was sealed.

Send your daughter to me,” faltered the widow. “I shall not be completely happy. until I hear from her own lips that she can love me.”

“All right!” said the squire, boyishly. “She's safe to do that, I reckon. I'll send her dtraight along.”

He sauntered up to the house, actually whistling, for the first time in a round decade of years. “It's sharp work,” he said to himself: Short, sharp, and decisive! Only a week! But then I never did approve of long courtship I wonder what Nelly'Il say?”

Nelly said very little. She heard the news with folded hands and quiet face.

“Very well, papa,” she replied, briefly, “I hope you'll be happy.”

“You'll go and see Mrs. Seaton, my dear.” said her father, entreatingly. “She's so fond of you, you know.”*

“No fonder of me than I am of her," Eleanor said, a little irrepressible smile dimpling her rosy mouth, “I'll go, of course.”

Lemonville got a second shock, almost worse than the first, when it heard its squire was going to he married.

“And to a widow, who lives in a haunted house,” cried the scandalized town, “and whom nobody knows anything about, It's plain to be seen she just settled down there on purpose: it’s like the artfulness of widows. The squire's old enough to know better. But then an old fool's the worst of all fools!

But the course of true love never did run smooth, as you have heard before; and Squire �