IT was a glowing, sultry day in the glorious month of June. In the drawing-room of Cortley Hall every window was thrown wide open to admit the breeze, which scarcely stirred the muslin curtains, or moved one leaf of the delicate maiden-hair fern which drooped from a fancy basket. In the deep recess of one of these windows sat a merry black-eyed girl, with a quantity of white satin ribbon heaped loosely upon her knee, and her workbox placed upon a little table beside her. A graceful young maiden stood near, and pensively and tenderly, as if each blossom were linked in her mind with thoughts of a home she was soon to quit, was arranging a quantity of flowers—roses, fuchsias, and geraniums—to f…
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