"How very kind you are, Mrs. Gower," and the tears came to her eyes, "but I should be more satisfied, adding to my purse."
"Very well, dear; I commend your decision, but remember the bedroom you occupy is Miss Crew's own, and your little home-nest will be ever ready for you; but do not forget my advice, which is to confide in Mr. Dale, fully and entirely; he can, and will, give you the very best advice."
"Oh, I don't see how I can. If you only knew; but how selfish I am, spoiling your drive, and on New Year's Day, too."
Here a small sleigh, in which were seated a comfortable-looking couple; the man a mass of grey tints—complexion, hair, whiskers, overcoat, and fur cap—looking like a man who had led a sedentary life; the woman, fresh of color, partly bent by the breath of old Boreas, both looking quietly happy, but so intent on turning their heads, as if on a pivot, first on this side, now on that, as they drove down handsome Saint George street, as to be oblivious of the approach of the sleigh in which were seated Mrs. Gower and Miss Crew.
"Look out, there," shouted the driver. At this, the man, giving his whole attention to his horse, turned him out of the way just in time to save a collision; the woman, as they passed, looking at the occupants. She gave a great cry to stop them, but the driver had given his horses the whip, and on they dashed. Miss Crew had leaned forward, pale as death, her lips blue and parted, she tried to frame the word, "Stop," but failed. Mrs. Gower, in sympathy, defining her meaning, cried:
"Stop, driver, please."
On his doing so:
"Is the sleigh we just passed out of sight?"
"No, ma'am; the gentleman has turned, and is a following of us. Would you, ladies, like a New Year's race? if so, I'm your man," he said, grinning.
But Miss Crew, white as the snow, and looking whiter by contrast with the pretty red hat, has leaped out of the cutter.