OVER THE THRESHOLD.

Florence, Lady Dacre, with her hand on Archdale’s arm walked across the plank from ship to shore, her husband on the other side of her and her maid following with Sir Temple’s valet, who was devotedly carrying all the bundles, and interspersing his useful attentions with auguries as to the “hignorance of the Hamerican Colonies.”  Lady Dacre walked on with a light step, and eyes that took note of every thing.

“So, this is Boston?” she said.  “I have always wanted to see it.  You will think me in fun, but really, do you know, it has an odd sort of aggressive look to me!  We imagine a certain humility in Colonies, but your people are more English than Englishmen.  That is your carriage, there on the pier?  How kind in you to come for us.  And that is your coachman?  Now, even he has a look that, on the whole, he is as good as you.”

“He does not feel so,” returned Archdale, smiling.

“Oh, no, I suppose not; it must be the exhilirating air that gives people that appearance.  Such a sky as there is to-day!  Do you have beautiful weather like this all the time?”

“No, sometimes we have a thunder shower.”

Sir Temple laughed.

“Good enough for you, Florence,” he cried.  “What are you so absurd for?”

“For fun.  I suppose you know Governor Shirley?” she added after an instant.

“Slightly.  But he is an intimate friend of Mr. Royal,—­one of my father’s friends.”

“Ah! yes.  Well, what is the difference?”

“Then, last year,” said Sir Temple, “we met some people in London.”  He named several whom Archdale knew.

“And there are two others here now,” cried Lady Dacre, “or perhaps I ought not to say two persons, but one and his shadow.  People call him a reckless sort of a fellow—­the man, not the shadow,—­but I think him charming.  It is Mr. Edmonson, the best whist player I ever saw.”

“And Lord Bulchester?”

“Ah! you know them.  Perhaps we are going to meet them at your house?  That will be delightful.”

“Lady Dacre has a perfect passion for whist,” explained her husband.

“You will certainly meet them there if they will do me the honor to become my guests,” returned Archdale.  Then something that he had heard came back to him, and brought a sudden frown to his face, but it was too late to retract.  So, after he had made his friends comfortable at an inn, for they were to dine before starting on their journey, he wrote his invitation and dispatched it by his servant with instructions to bring back an answer.  “If the rumor I heard is true, he will not accept,” he said to himself.

[TO BE CONTINUED.]

* * * * *

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