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Rh side—at home in the house of her ancestors. "Ah, Emily, you ought to be—you will be happy," was her silent reflection. Emily not only felt that joyousness of spirits which is produced by relief from pain, but was anxious, by every exertion, to convince her guests of their welcome. It was the fatigue of her companions that first gave the signal for leaving the table. She leant on her old favourite up stairs—"I could carry you, Miss Emily, in my arms." Beatrice could not resist an exclamation of delight at the comfort of an English bed-room—the fire made it look so cheerful; for though the days were warm and bright, the nights required fire.

"To-morrow is my birth-day," said Emily; "how thankful I am to spend it at home! Mary, be sure you send word to Mr. Morton to breakfast here." "But, Emily dear, you will tire yourself. If we mean," said Beatrice to the housekeeper, "to nurse her, we must oblige her to obey us: let us see, now, if both together have authority enough to make her silent and sleepy." In a few minutes more the old woman was