"You know I do. She has been there again--all the blessed afternoon, as
Penelope expresses it. Asking questions of the girl about you--and
me--and Walter; and saying the child has your beautiful brown eyes. _I
ask you who is she?_"

Mr. Hamlyn laid down his knife and fork to gaze at his wife. He looked
quite at sea.

"Eliza, I assure you I know nothing about it. Or about her."

"Indeed! Don't you think it may be some acquaintance, old or new?
Possibly someone you knew in the days gone by--come over seas to see
whether you are yet in the land of the living? She has wonderful hair,
which looks like spun gold."

All in a moment, as the half-mocking words left her lips, some idea
seemed to flash across Philip Hamlyn, bringing with it distress and
fear. His face turned to a burning red and then grew white as the hue of
the grave.

JOHNNY LUDLOW.




THE BRETONS AT HOME.

BY CHARLES W. WOOD, F.R.G.S., AUTHOR OF "THROUGH HOLLAND," "LETTERS FROM
MAJORCA," ETC. ETC.