life, and as this defeated warrior took a best dress from the closet without any of the usual reflection upon so important a step, she felt a great consciousness of having been added to and enriched, as the person might who had suddenly fallen heir to an unexpected property.  From this first day she separated herself as much as possible from any thought of guilt or complicity in the long estrangement.  She seemed to become used to her niece’s presence, and with the new relationship’s growth there faded away the thought of the past times.  If any one dared to hint that it was a pity this visit had been so long delayed, Miss Prince grandly ignored all personality.

Priscilla had come to the guest’s room on some undeclared errand, for it had already been put in order, and she viewed with pleasure the simple arrangements for dressing which were in one place and another about the room.  Priscilla had scorned the idea of putting this visitor into the best bedroom, and had had secret expectations that Miss Prince’s niece would feel more at home with her than with her mistress.  But Miss Anna was as much of a lady as Miss Prince, which was both pleasing and disappointing, as Priscilla hoped to solace some disrespectful feelings of her own heart by taking down Miss Nancy’s pride.  However, her loyalty to the house was greater than her own very small grudges, and as she pretended to have some difficulty with the fastening of the blind, she said in a whisper, “Y’r aunt’ll like to have you make yourself look pretty,” which was such a reminder of Marilla’s affectionate worldliness that Nan had to laugh aloud.  “I’m afraid I haven’t anything grand enough,” she told the departing housekeeper, whose pleasure it was not hard to discern.

It was with a very gratified mind that Miss Prince walked down the street with her niece and bowed to one and another of her acquaintances.  She was entirely careless of what any one should say, but she was brimful of excitement, and answered several of Nan’s questions entirely wrong.  The old town was very pleasant that Sunday morning.  The lilacs were in full bloom, and other early summer flowers in the narrow strips of front-yards or the high-fenced gardens were in blossom too, and the air was full of sweetness and delight.  The ancient seaport had gathered for itself quaint names and treasures; it was pleased with its old fashions and noble memories; its ancient bells had not lost their sweet voices, and a flavor of the past pervaded everything.  The comfortable houses, the elderly citizens, the very names on the shop signs, and the worn cobblestones of the streets and flagstones of the pavements, delighted the young stranger, who felt so unreasonably at home in Dunport.  The many faces that had been colored and fashioned by the sea were strangely different from those which had known an inland life only, and she seemed to have come a great deal nearer to foreign life and to the last century.  Her heart softened