"Oh, yes, I see," she answered, faltering; but perceiving how bright were the looks of both, "No? Impossible! Yes, it is!"

"Yes, it is," said both brothers with one voice. She clasped her hands, absolutely bounded with transport, then grasped both Harry's hands, and then Norman's, her whole countenance radiant with joy and sympathy beyond expression.

"Dear, dear Dr. May!" was her first exclamation. "Oh, how happy you must all be! And Margaret?" She looked up at Norman, and came nearer. "Is not Mr. Ernescliffe come?" she asked softly, and trembling.

"No," was the low answer, which Harry could not bear to hear, and therefore walked to the window. "No, Meta, but Margaret is much comforted about him. He died in great peace--in his arms"--as he signed towards his brother. And as Harry continued to gaze out on the stars of gas on the opposite side of the park, he was able to add a few of the particulars.

Meta's eyes glistened with tears, as she said, "Perhaps it would have been too perfect if he had come; but oh, Norman! how good she is to bear it so patiently! And how gloriously he behaved! How can we make enough of him! And Flora out! how sorry she will be!"

"And she never opened Mary's letter," said Harry, coming back to them.

"She little thought what it contained," said Meta. "Mary's letters are apt to bear keeping, you know, and she was so busy, that she laid it aside for a treat after the day's work. But there! inhospitable wretch that I am! you have had no dinner!"

A refection of tea and cold meat was preferred, and in her own pretty manner Meta lavished her welcomes, trying to cover any pain given by Flora's neglect.

"What makes her so busy?" asked Harry, looking round on the beautifully furnished apartment, which, to many eyes besides those fresh from a Milanesian hut, might have seemed a paradise of luxurious ease.

"You don't know what an important lady you have for a sister," said Meta merrily.

"But tell me, what can she have to do? I thought you London ladies had nothing to do, but to sit with your hands before you entertaining company."

Meta laughed heartily. "Shall I begin at the beginning? I'll describe to-day then, and you must understand that this is what Tom would call a mild specimen--only one evening engagement. Though, perhaps, I ought to start from last night at twelve o'clock, when she was at the Austrian Ambassador's ball, and came home at two; but she was up by eight--she always manages to get through her housekeeping matters before breakfast.

At nine, breakfast, and baby--by the bye, you have never inquired for our niece."

"I have not come to believe in her yet," said Harry.

"Seeing is believing," said Meta; "but no, I won't take an unfair advantage over her mamma; and she will be fast asleep; I never knew a child sleep as she does. So to go on with our day. The papers come, and Miss Leonora is given over to me; for you must know we are wonderful politicians. Flora studies all the debates till George finds out what he has heard in the House, and baby and I profit. Baby goes out walking, and the post comes. Flora always goes to the study with George, and writes, and does all sorts of things for him. She is the most useful wife in the world. At twelve, we had our singing lesson--"

"Singing lesson!" exclaimed Harry.

"Yes, you know she has a pretty voice, and she is glad to cultivate it.

It is very useful at parties, but it takes up a great deal of time, and with all I can do to save her in note-writing, the morning is gone directly. After luncheon, she had to ride with George, and came back in a hurry to make some canvassing calls about the orphan asylum, and Miss Bracy's sister. If we get her in at all, it will be Flora's diplomacy.

And there was shopping to do, and when we came in hoping for time for our letters, there were the Walkinghames, who stayed a long time, so that Flora could only despatch the most important notes, before George came in and wanted her. She was reading something for him all the time she was dressing, but, as I say, this is quite a quiet day."

"Stop!" cried Harry, with a gesture of oppression, "it sounds harder than cleaning knives, like Aunt Flora! And what is an unquiet day like?"

"You will see, for we have a great evening party to-morrow."

"Do you always stay at home?" asked Harry.

"Not always, but I do not go to large parties or balls this year," said Meta, glancing at her deep mourning; "I am very glad of a little time at home."

"So you don't like it."

"Oh, yes! it is very pleasant," said Meta. "It is so entertaining when we talk it over afterwards, and I like to hear how Flora is admired, and called the beauty of the season. I tell George, and we do so gloat over it together! There was an old French marquis the other night, a dear old man, quite of the ancien regime, who said she was exactly like the portraits of Madame de Maintenon, and produced a beautiful miniature on a snuff-box, positively like that very pretty form of face of hers.

The old man even declared that Mistress Rivers was worthy to be a Frenchwoman."

"I should like to kick him!" amiably responded Harry.

"I hope you won't to-morrow! But don't let us waste our time over this; I want so much to hear about New Zealand."

Meta was well read in Australasian literature, and drew out a great deal more information from Harry than Norman had yet heard. She made him talk about the Maori pah near his uncle's farm, where the Sunday services were conducted by an old gentleman tattooed elegantly in the face, but dressed like an English clergyman; and tell of his aunt's troubles about the younger generation, whom their elders, though Christians themselves, could not educate, and who she feared would relapse into heathenism, for want of instruction, though with excellent dispositions.

"How glad you must be that you are likely to go!" exclaimed Meta to Norman, who had sat silently listening.

The sound of the door bell was the first intimation that Harry's histories had occupied them until long past twelve o'clock.

"Now, then!" cried Meta, springing forward, as if intending to meet Flora with the tidings, but checking herself, as if she ought not to be the first. There was a pause. Flora was hearing downstairs that Mr.

Norman May and another gentleman had arrived, and, while vexed at her own omission, and annoyed at Norman's bringing friends without waiting for permission, she was yet prepared to be courteous and amiable. She entered in her rich black watered silk, deeply trimmed with lace, and with silver ornaments in her dark hair, so graceful and distinguished-looking, that Harry stood suspended, hesitating, for an instant, whether he beheld his own sister, especially as she made a dignified inclination towards him, offering her hand to Norman, as she said, "Meta has told you--" But there she broke off, exclaiming, "Ha! is it possible! No, surely it cannot be--"

"Miss Walkinghame?" said the sailor, who had felt at home with her at the first word, and she flew into his great rough arms.

"Harry! this is dear Harry! our own dear sailor come back," cried she, as her husband stood astonished; and, springing towards him, she put Harry's hand into his, "My brother Harry! our dear lost one."

"Your--brother--Harry," slowly pronounced George, as he instinctively gave the grasp of greeting--"your brother that was lost? Upon my word,"

as the matter dawned fully on him, and he became eager, "I am very glad to see you. I never was more rejoiced in my life."

"When did you come? Have you been at home?" asked Flora.

"I came home yesterday--Mary wrote to tell you."

"Poor dear old Mary! There's a lesson against taking a letter on trust.

I thought it would be all Cocksmoor, and would wait for a quiet moment!

How good to come to me so soon, you dear old shipwrecked mariner!"

"I was forced to come to report myself," said Harry, "or I could not have come away from my father so soon."

The usual questions and their sad answers ensued, and while Flora talked to Harry, fondly holding his hand, Norman and Meta explained the history to George, who no sooner comprehended it, that he opined it must have been a horrid nuisance, and that Harry was a gallant fellow; then striking him over the shoulder, welcomed him home with all his kind heart, told him he was proud to receive him, and falling into a state of rapturous hospitality, rang the bell, and wanted to order all sorts of eatables and drinkables, but was sadly baffled to find him already satisfied.

There was more open joy than even at home, and Flora was supremely happy as she sat between her brothers, listening and inquiring till far past one o'clock, when she perceived poor George dozing off, awakened every now and then by a great nod, and casting a wishful glance of resigned remonstrance, as if to appeal against sitting up all night.

The meeting at breakfast was a renewal of pleasure. Flora was proud and happy in showing off her little girl, a model baby, as she called her, a perfect doll for quietness, so that she could be brought in at family prayers; "and," said Flora, "I am the more glad that she keeps no one away, because we can only have evening prayers on Sunday. It is a serious thing to arrange for such a household."

"She is equal to anything," said George.

The long file of servants marched in, George read sonorously, and Flora rose from her knees, highly satisfied at the impression produced upon her brothers.

"I like to have the baby with us at breakfast," she said; "it is the only time of day when we can be sure of seeing anything of her, and I like her nurse to have some respite. Do you think her grown, Norman?"

"Not very much," said Norman, who thought her more inanimate and like a pretty little waxen toy, than when he had last seen her. "Is she not rather pale?"

"London makes children pale. I shall soon take her home to acquire a little colour. You must know Sir Henry has bitten us with his yachting tastes, and as soon as we can leave London, we are going to spend six weeks with the Walkinghames at Ryde, and rival you, Harry. I think Miss Leonora will be better at home, so we must leave her there. Lodgings and irregularities don't suit people of her age."

"Does home mean Stoneborough?" asked Norman.

"No. Old nurse has one of her deadly prejudices against Preston, and I would not be responsible for the consequences of shutting them up in the same nursery. Margaret would be distracted between them. No, miss, you shall make her a visit every day, and be fondled by your grandpapa."

George began a conversation with Harry on nautical matters, and Norman tried to discover how Meta liked the yachting project, and found her prepared to think it charming. Hopes were expressed that Harry might be at Portsmouth, and a quantity of gay scheming ensued, with reiterations of the name of Walkinghame; while Norman had a sense of being wrapped in some gray mist, excluding him from participation in their enjoyments, and condemned his own temper as frivolous for being thus excited to discontent.