"Oh, won't it be grand!" said Lenora that night, as she sat sipping
her tea. "Won't it be grand, if you do succeed, and won't I lord it
over Miss Margaret! As for that little white-faced Carrie, she's too
insipid for one to trouble herself about, and I dare say thinks you a
very nice woman, for how can her Sabbath-school teacher be otherwise;"
and a satirical laugh echoed through the room. Suddenly springing up,
Lenora glanced at herself in the mirror, and turning to her mother,
said, "Did you hear when Walter is expected--and am I so very ugly
looking?"

While Mrs. Carter is preparing an answer to the first question, we,
for the sake of our readers, will answer the last one. Lenora was a
little dark-looking girl about eighteen years of age. Her eyes were
black, her face was black, and her hair was black, standing out from
her head in short, thick curls, which gave to her features a strange
witch-like expression. From her mother she had inherited the same
sweet, cooing voice, the same gliding, noiseless footsteps, which had
led some of their acquaintance to accuse them of what, in the days of
New England witchcraft, would have secured their passport to another
world.

Lenora had spoken truthfully when she said that she had not been
trained by such a mother for nothing, for whatever of evil appeared in
her conduct was more the result of her mother's training than of a
naturally bad disposition. At times her mother petted and caressed
her, and again, in a fit of ill-humor, drove her from the room,
taunting her with the strong resemblance which she bore to the man
whom she had once called father! On such occasions Lenora was never at
a loss for words, and the scenes which sometimes occurred were too
disgraceful for repetition. On one subject, however, they were united,