interesting to his wife. She was too near the
time of her trial now, not to feel nervously
sensitive to the one subject which always held
the foremost place in her heart. Her eyes over-
flowed as Magdalen joined the little group under
the portico; her frail hand trembled, as it signed
to her youngest daughter to take the vacant
chair by her side. "We were talking of your
father," she said, softly. "Oh, my love, if your
married life is only as happy——" Her voice
failed her; she put her handkerchief hurriedly
over her face, and rested her head on Magdalen's
shoulder. Norah looked appealingly to Miss
Garth; who at once led the conversation back
to the more trivial subject of Mr. Vanstone's
return. "We have all been wondering," she
said, with a significant look at Magdalen,
"whether your father will leave Grailsea in time to
catch the train—or whether he will miss it,
and be obliged to drive back. What do you
say?"

"I say, papa will miss the train," replied
Magdalen, taking Miss Garth's hint with her
customary quickness. "The last thing he attends
to at Grailsea, will be the business that brings
him there. Whenever he has business to do, he
always puts it off to the last moment—doesn't he,
mamma?"

The question roused her mother exactly as
Magdalen had intended it should. "Not when
his errand is an errand of kindness," said Mrs.
Vanstone. "He has gone to help the miller, in
a very pressing difficulty——"

"And don't you know what he'll do?"
persisted Magdalen. "He'll romp with the miller's
children, and gossip with the mother, and hob-
and-nob with the father. At the last moment,
when he has got five minutes left to catch the
train, he'll say, "Let's go into the counting-house,
and look at the books." He'll find the books
dreadfully complicated; he'll suggest sending for
an accountant; he'll settle the business off-hand,
by lending the money in the mean time; he'll jog
back comfortably in the miller's gig; and he'll
tell us all how pleasant the lanes were in the
cool of the evening."

The little character-sketch which these words
drew, was too faithful a likeness not to be recognised.
Mrs. Vanstone showed her appreciation
of it by a smile. "When your father returns,"
she said, "we will put your account of his
proceedings to the test. I think," she continued,
rising languidly from her chair, "I had better go
in-doors again now, and rest on the sofa till he
comes back."

The little group under the portico broke up.
Magdalen slipped away into the garden to hear
Frank's account of the interview with his father.
The other three ladies entered the house together.
When Mrs. Vanstone was comfortably established
on the sofa, Norah and Miss Garth left her to
repose, and withdrew to the library to look over the
last parcel of books from London.

It was a quiet, cloudless summer's day. The
heat was tempered by a light western breeze;
the voices of labourers at work in a field near,
reached the house cheerfully; the clock-bell of
the village church as it struck the quarters,
floated down the wind with a clearer ring, a
louder melody than usual. Sweet odours from
field and flower-garden, stealing in at the open
windows, filled the house with their fragrance;
and the birds in Norah's aviary up-stairs, sang
the song of their happiness exultingly in the
sun.

As the church clock struck the quarter-past
four, the morning-room door opened; and Mrs.
Vanstone crossed the hall alone. She had tried
vainly to compose herself. She was too restless
to lie still, and sleep. For a moment, she directed
her steps towards the portico—then turned, and
looked about her, doubtful where to go, or what
to do next. While she was still hesitating, the half-
open door of her husband's study attracted her
attention. The room seemed to be in sad confusion.
Drawers were left open; coats and hats,
account-books and papers, pipes and fishing-rods,
were all scattered about together. She went in,
and pushed the door to—but so gently that she
still left it ajar. "It will amuse me to put his
room to rights," she thought to herself. "I
should like to do something for him, before I am
down on my bed helpless." She began to arrange
his drawers; and found his banker's book lying
open in one of them. "My poor dear, how careless
he is! The servants might have seen all his
affairs, if I had not happened to have looked in."
She set the drawers right; and then turned to
the multifarious litter on a side-table. A little
old-fashioned music-book appeared among the
scattered papers, with her name written in it, in
faded ink. She blushed like a young girl in the
first happiness of the discovery. "How good he
is to me! He remembers my poor old music-
book, and keeps it for my sake." As she sat
down by the table and opened the book, the
bygone time came back to her in all its tenderness.
The clock struck the half-hour, struck the
three-quarters and still she sat there, with the
music-book on her lap, dreaming happily over the
old songs; thinking gratefully of the golden days
when his hand had turned the pages for her, when
his voice had whispered the words which no
woman's memory ever forgets.

Norah roused herself from the volume she was
reading, and glanced at the clock on the library
mantelpiece.

"If papa comes back by railway," she said,
"he will be here in ten minutes."

Miss Garth started, and looked up drowsily
from the book which was just dropping out of
her hand.

"I don't think he will come by train," she
replied. " He will jog back as Magdalen
flippantly expressed it—in the miller's gig."

As she said the words, there was a knock at
the library-door. The footman appeared, and
addressed himself to Miss Garth.

"A person wishes to see you, ma'am."