There had reigned over the domestic department of The Rim, for many years, a person who was the widow of a maternal cousin of Mr. Erne’s, and who, when left destitute by the death of this young cousin, had found shelter, support, and generous courtesy beneath the roof of her late husband’s kinsman.  It was on the accession of this person, who was not a saint, that Eloise had become so ungovernable as to require the constraint of a nunnery.  Mrs. Arles was a dark and quiet little lady, with some of the elements of beauty which her name suggested, and with a perfectly Andalusian foot and ankle.  These being her sole wealth, it was, perhaps, from economy of her charms that she hid the ankle in such flowing sables, that she bound the black locks straightly under a little widow’s-cap, seldom parted the fine lips above the treasured pearls beneath, disdained to distort the classic features, and graved no wrinkles on the smooth, rich skin with any lavish smiling.  She went about the house, a self-contained, silent, unpleasant little vial of wrath, and there was ever between her and Eloise a tacit feud, waiting, perhaps, only for occasion to fling down the gage in order to become open war.  Mrs. Arles expected, therefore, that, so soon Eloise should take the reins in hand herself, she would be lightly, but decisively shaken off,—­for the old friend had mentioned to Mrs. Arles that Mr. Erne’s will left Eloise heir, as she had always supposed it would.  She was, accordingly, silently amazed, when Eloise, softened by suffering, hoped she would always find it convenient to make a home with herself, and informed her that a certain section of the farm had been measured off and allotted to her, with its laborers, as the source of a yearly income.  This delicacy, that endeavored to prevent her feeling the perpetual recurrence of benefits conferred, touched the speechless Mrs. Arles almost to the point of positive friendliness.

The plantation was one of those high and healthy spots that are ever visited by land- and sea-breezes, and there Eloise determined to stay that spring and summer; for this ground that her father had so often trod, this air that had given and received his last breath, were dear to her, and just now parting with them, for ever so short a time, would be but a renewal of her loss.  As she became able to turn her energy to the business requiring attention, she discovered at last her sad ignorance.  Dancing, drawing, music, and languages were of small avail in managing the interior concerns and the vexatious finance of a great estate.  The neighbors complained that her spoiled and neglected servants infected theirs, and that her laxity of discipline was more ruinous in its effects than the rigor of Blue Bluffs.  But she just held out to them her helpless little hands in so piteous and charming a way that they could not cherish an instant’s enmity.  If she tried to remedy the evil complained of, she fell into some fresh error; take what advice she would, it invariably