to-morrow."

Diana's face glowed with indignation--with wounded feeling besides. Mrs.
Colwood endeavored to soothe her, but she remained grave and rather
silent for some time. The flow of Christmas feeling and romantic
pleasure had been arrested, and the memory of a harsh personality
haunted the day. In the afternoon, however, in the unpacking of various
pretty knick-knacks, and in the putting away of books and papers, Diana
recovered herself. She flitted about the house, arranging her favorite
books, hanging pictures, and disposing embroideries. The old walls
glowed afresh under her hand, and from the combination of their antique
beauty with her young taste, a home began to emerge, stamped with a
woman's character and reflecting her enthusiasms. As she assisted in the
task, Mrs. Colwood learned many things. She gathered that Miss Mallory
read two or three languages, that she was passionately fond of French
memoirs and the French classics, that her father had taught her Latin
and German, and guided every phase of her education. Traces indeed of
his poetic and scholarly temper were visible throughout his daughter's
possessions--so plainly, that at last as they came nearly to the end of
the books, Diana's gayety once more disappeared. She moved soberly and
dreamily, as though the past returned upon her; and once or twice Mrs.
Colwood came upon her standing motionless, her finger in an open book,
her eyes wandering absently through the casement windows to the distant
wall of hill. Sometimes, as she bent over the books and packets she
would say little things, or quote stories of her father, which seemed to
show a pretty wish on her part to make the lady who was now to be her
companion understand something of the feelings and memories on which her
life was based. But there was dignity in it all, and, besides, a
fundamental awe and reserve. Mrs. Colwood seemed to see that there were
remembrances connected with her father far too poignant to be touched