"Hector?"

"Hector Ernescliffe--poor Alan's brother, whom we don't well know from ourselves."

"And you are curate, Ritchie?" said his aunt--"if I may still call you so. You are not a bit altered from the mouse you used to be."

"Church mouse to Cocksmoor," said Dr. May, "nearly as poor. We are to invest his patrimony in a parsonage as soon as our architect in ordinary can find time for it. Spencer--you remember him?"

"I remember how you and he used to be inseparable! And he has settled down, at last, by your side?"

"The two old doctors hope to bolster each other up till Mr. Tom comes down with modern science in full force. That boy will do great things--he has as clear a head as I ever knew."

"And more--" said Ethel.

"Ay, as sound a heart. I must find you his tutor's letter, Flora. They have had a row in his tutor's house at Eton, and our boys made a gallant stand for the right, Tom especially, guarding the little fellows in a way that does one good to hear of."

"'I must express my strong sense of gratitude for his truth, uprightness, and moral courage,'" quoted Meta.

"Ah, ha! you have learned it by heart! I know you copied it out for Norman, who has the best right to rejoice."

"You have a set of children to be proud of, Richard!" exclaimed Mrs.

Arnott.

"To be surprised at--to be thankful for," said Dr. May, almost inarticulately.

To see her father so happy with Mrs. Arnott necessarily drew Ethel's heart towards her; and, when they had bidden him goodnight, the aunt instantly assumed a caressing confidence towards Ethel, particularly comfortable to one consciously backward and awkward, and making her feel as intimate as if the whole space of her rational life had not elapsed since their last meeting.

"Must you go, my dear?" said her aunt, detaining her over her fire.

"I can't tell how to spare you. I want to hear of your dear father. He looks aged and thin, Ethel, and yet that sweet expression is the same as ever. Is he very anxious about poor Margaret?"

"Not exactly anxious," said Ethel mournfully--"there is not much room for that."

"My dear Ethel--you don't mean?--I thought--"

"I suppose we ought to have written more fully," said Ethel; "but it has been very gradual, and we never say it to ourselves. She is as bright, and happy, and comfortable as ever, in general, and, perhaps, may be so for a long time yet, but each attack weakens her."

"What kind of attack?"

"Faintness-sinking. It is suspended action of the heart. The injury to the spine deranged the system, and then the long suspense, and the shock--It is not one thing more than another, but it must go on. Dr.

Spencer will tell you. You won't ask papa too much about it?"

"No, indeed. And he bears it--"

"He bears everything. Strength comes up out of his great lovingness.

But, oh! I sometimes long that he may never have any more sorrows."

"My poor child!" said Mrs. Arnott, putting her arm round her niece's waist.

Ethel rested her head on her shoulder. "Aunt Flora! Aunt Flora! If any words could tell what Margaret has been ever since we were left. Oh, don't make me talk or think of ourselves without her. It is wrong to wish. And when you see her, that dear face of hers will make you happy in the present. Then," added Ethel, not able to leave off with such a subject, "you have our Norman to see."

"Ah! Norman's project is too delightful to us; but I fear what it may be to your father."

"He gives dear Norman, as his most precious gift, the flower and pride of us all."

"But, Ethel, I am quite frightened at Miss Rivers's looks. Is it possible that--"

"Aunt Flora," broke in Ethel, "don't say a word against it. The choicest goods wear the best; and whatever woman can do, Meta Rivers can. Norman is a great tall fellow, as clever as possible, but perfectly feckless.

If you had him there alone, he would be a bee without a queen."

"Well, but--"

"Listen," continued Ethel. "Meta is a concentration of spirit and energy, delights in practical matters, is twice the housewife I am, and does all like an accomplishment. Between them, they will make a noble missionary--"

"But she looks--"

"Hush," continued the niece. "You will think me domineering; but please don't give any judgment without seeing; for they look to you as an arbitrator, and casual words will weigh."

"Thank you, Ethel; perhaps you are right. When does he think of coming out?"

"When he is ordained--some time next year."

"Does she live with you?"

"I suppose she lives with Flora; but we always manage to get her when Norman is at home."

"You have told me nothing of Flora or Mary."

"I have little real to tell. Good old Mary! I dare say Harry talked to you plentifully of her. She is a--a nice old darling," said Ethel fondly. "We want her again very much, and did not quite bargain for the succession of smart visits that she has been paying."

"With Flora?"

"Yes. Unluckily George Rivers has taken an aversion to the Grange, and I have not seen Flora this whole year."

Ethel stopped short, and said that she must not keep Margaret expecting her. Perhaps her aunt guessed that she had touched the true chord of anxiety.

The morning brought a cheering account of Margaret; and Mrs. Arnott was to see her directly after breakfast. In the meantime, the firm limbs, blue eyes, and rosy face of Gertrude seemed a fair representation of the little bride's-maid, whom she remembered.

A very different niece did she find upstairs, though the smiling, overflowing eyes, and the fond, eager look of recognition, as if asking to be taken to her bosom, had in them all the familiarity of old tenderness. "Auntie! dear auntie! that you should have come back to me again!"

Mrs. Arnott fondly caressed her, but could not speak at first, for even her conversation with Ethel had not prepared her for so wasted and broken an appearance. Dr. May spoke briskly of Margaret's having behaved very well and slept like a good child, told Margaret where he had to go that morning, and pointed out to Mrs. Arnott some relics of herself still remaining; but the nervous tremulousness of manner did not much comfort her, although Margaret answered cheerfully. Nothing was so effectual in composing the aunt as Aubrey's coming headlong in to announce the gig, and to explain to Margaret his last design for a cathedral--drawing plans being just now his favourite sport.

"Architecture is all our rage at present," said Margaret, as her father hurried away.

"I am so glad to have come in time for the consecration!" said Mrs.

Arnott, following her niece's lead. "Is that a model of the church?"

"Oh, yes!" cried Margaret, lighting up. "Richard made it for me."

"May I show it to Aunt Flora?" said Aubrey.