ladies—-grown smaller and lighter, and the son somewhat more bald and
grey, but not a whit more careworn, and, if possible, even brighter.

On one side of him sat a little figure, not quite so thin, some
angles smoothed away, the black hair coiled, but still in resolute
little mutinous tendrils on the brow, not ill set off by a tuft of
carnation ribbon on one side, agreeing with the colour that touched
up her gauzy black dress; the face, not beautiful indeed—-but
developed, softened, brightened with more of sweetness and
tenderness-—as well as more of thought—-added to the fresh responsive
intelligence it had always possessed.

On the opposite side of the dinner-table were a girl of fourteen and
a boy of twelve; the former, of a much larger frame than her mother,
and in its most awkward and uncouth stage, hardly redeemed by the
keen ardour and inquiry that glowed in the dark eyes, set like two
hot coals beneath the black overhanging brows of the massive
forehead, on which the dark smooth hair was parted. The features
were large, the complexion dark but not clear, and the look of
resolution in the square-cut chin and closely shutting mouth was more
boy-like than girl-like. Janet Brownlow was assuredly a very plain
girl, but the family habit was to regard their want of beauty as
rather a mark of distinction, capable of being joked about, if not
triumphed in.

Nor was Allen, the boy, wanting in good looks. He was fairer,
clearer, better framed in every way than his sister, and had a
pleasant, lively countenance, prepossessing to all. He had a well-
grown, upright figure, his father's ready suppleness of movement, and
his mother's hazel eyes and flashing smile, and there was a look of