an air of decision, whilst her high-arched forehead led one to
believe that daring, energetic thought lay hidden beneath those
clusters of brown curls. She was not in the bloom of youth, but at
twenty-five she appeared younger than many beauties at eighteen; and
if her form no longer possessed the charm of girlhood, it was
attractive from its suppleness and full, beautiful bust.

"Louisa, Louisa, where are you?" cried the young lady, stepping
quickly forward toward a side-path, which led from the broad avenue,
and at the end of which was a sunny grassplot.

"Here I am, miss; I am coming."

"Miss," murmured the young lady, "how dreadfully it sounds! The
blush of shame rises to my face, for it sounds like bitter mockery
and contempt, and brings my whole life before me. Yet, I must endure
it--and I scarcely wish it were otherwise. Ah, there you are,
Louisa, and there is my beautiful boy," she cried, with a glad
voice, hastening toward the peasant-woman and bending fondly over
her child. "How beautiful and how knowing he looks! It seems as if
my little Alexander began to recognize me--he looks so earnest and
sensible."

"He knows you, miss," said the nurse, courtesying, "and he knows,
like other children, who loves him. Children and dogs know who love
them. The children cry, and the dogs hide themselves when people are
around who dislike them."

"Nonsense, Louisa!" laughed the young lady, as she bent to kiss her
child--"nonsense! did not my little boy cry when his father took him