“They will send down bye-and-bye for your luggage; it’s only a one-seated affair outside.”

I followed him to the carriage; a bright faced young fellow was holding a spirited horse; from his bearing I instantly set him down as something more than a servant.

“Here, Flaxman, is your charge,” the conductor remarked, as he assisted me into the carriage.

“Miss Selwyn, I presume,” the young man said, politely, as he disentangled one hand from the reins to grasp mine.  The horse started off on a biasing canter, much to my amusement.

“You are not afraid, I hope,” my companion said, a trifle anxiously.

“Not afraid, but amused; your horse goes so oddly; but I am not accustomed to their ways.”  I added, fearing my remark might give offence.

“Faery and I are very good friends, and understand each other thoroughly; but strangers usually get alarmed.”

My knowledge of quadrupeds was so limited I thought it safest to remain silent.

Presently we passed the Blakes, I longed to relieve Daniel of his heavy basket; for even he seemed to stagger beneath its weight.

“I was speaking with that woman on the train.  She comes to attend her son’s wife, who is sick.”

“Oh, the Blakes, then.  She won’t have much to do, Dan’s wife died to-day; poor beggar, he looks heartbroken.”

“Your wife may be dead some day; then you will know how dreadfully he feels,” I said, hotly.  The flippant tone in face of such sorrow distressed me.  He gave me a merry look as he said:  “There are always plenty left to replace the lost ones.  A wife is far easier got than a horse; one like Faery, for instance.”

I shut my mouth firmly and turned my head away to watch the white sails idly mirrored, in the still waters, I knew he was furtively watching me, and this alone held back my tears, as I thought of poor Blake’s desolate hearthstone, as well as my own heart’s loneliness in this wide continent of strangers.

“Mr. Winthrop regretted being away when you arrived, but he expected us to be kind to you; so we must not quarrel first thing.”  My companion said, with entire change of tone.

“I quarrel pretty easily,” I stammered, “my temper is very abrupt.”

“Most of us have quick tempers; but, I think, you, at least, have a generous one.”

Then I recollected abrupt was not a very suitable word to couple with temper.  Taken altogether, I found this drive home with Faery and her master anything but enjoyable.

CHAPTER II.

Oaklands.

Faery’s head was turned at last from the wide, dusty street into an imposing gateway, which lead through an avenue bordered thickly with evergreens mostly pine and hemlock.  “These trees look a trifle hot in summer; but they are a capital protection in a winter’s storm, I assure you,” my companion said with an apologetic air.