she had but a frail prettiness, not un¬ 
like her namesake flower. The years 
passed slowly, unfretted by the hurry 
and bustle which affects those in the 
outer world, and first her mother, and 
then her father, fell asleep, — one can 
hardly call such peaceful ends dying,— 
and Artemesiafound herself quite alone. 
“ ’T was now I knew her first, — a 
dainty little lady, somewhat prim in 
all her ways, and whether consciously 
or not, growing each year more and 
more like the artemesias which grew 
so plentifully in her garden, their pale 
colourings repeated in her gowns of 
mauve or grey, with the delicate laces 
which she always wore, and which were 
not unlike the rime of hoar-frost which 
often lay on the garden blossoms. 
“ Perhaps you do not remember 
your uncle, certainly not as he was 
when we first came here to live. 
Handsome, vivid, full of life and mer- 
18 8 
