"Celia," asked the Squire, "did you search all Paris, or offer a reward, for the ugliest dog that could be brought you?"
"By no means, Father. The dog is a bequest from my step-mother. It was her special pet, and I have not the conscience to discard it, if I had the heart."
"Is she dead, my dear? I see you are in black for some person," asked Madam Passmore.
The glad light died out of Celia's eyes, and her voice sank to a low, saddened tone.
"No, Mother; she has taken the veil at Chaillot. I am in black for Philip—my brother Philip—who died at Denain."
"Are you then come to us for good, my dear?" asked Madam Passmore, tenderly.
"For good, Mother, if you will have me, and I think you will. Only that I have promised to see my step-mother again, but my visit to her cannot last above a day, and will not be for some time to come."
"Have thee, my dear child!" murmured Madam Passmore, as if the reverse were the most preposterous notion of which she had ever heard.
"Do widows make nuns of themselves?" asked Charley. "I thought they were always girls, and that they walled them up alive when they had done with them!"
"And your woman, my dear?"