his son would have ended his talking and go into
the drawing-room; and at length found himself
writing the desired letter to Mr. Ness, consenting
to everything, terms and all. Mr. Ness never
had a more satisfactory pupil; one whom he
could treat more as an intellectual equal.

Mr. Corbet, as Ralph was always called in
Hamley, was resolute in his cultivation of himself,
even exceeding what his tutor demanded of him.
He was greedy of information in the hours not
devoted to absolute study; Mr. Ness enjoyed giving
information, but most of all he liked the hard
tough arguments on all metaphysical and ethical
questions in which Mr. Corbet delighted in
engaging him. They lived together on terms of
happy equality, having thus much in common.
They were essentially different, however,
although there were so many points of resemblance.
Mr. Ness was unworldly as far as the idea of
real unworldliness is compatible with a turn for
self-indulgence and indolence; while Mr. Corbet
was deeply, radically worldly, yet for the
accomplishment of his object could deny himself
all the careless pleasures natural to his age.
The tutor and pupil allowed themselves one
frequent relaxation,— that of Mr. Wilkins's
company. Mr. Ness would stroll to the office after
the six hours' hard reading were over — leaving
Mr. Corbet still bent over the table, book
bestrewn — and see what Mr. Wilkins's engagements
were. If he had nothing better to do that
evening, he was either asked to dine at the
parsonage, or he, in his careless hospitable way,
invited the other two to dine with him, Ellinor
forming the fourth at table, as far as seats went,
although her dinner had been eaten early with
Miss Monro. She was little and slight of her
age, and her father never seemed to understand
how she was passing out of childhood. Yet while
in stature she was like a child, in intellect, in
force of character, in strength of clinging affection,
she was a woman. There might be much
of the simplicity of a child about her, there was
little of the undeveloped girl, varying from day
to day like an April sky, careless as to which
way her own character is tending. So the two
young people sat with their elders, and both
relished the company they were thus prematurely
thrown into. Mr. Corbet talked as much
as either of the other two gentlemen; opposing
and disputing on any side, as if to find out how
much he could urge against received opinions.
Ellinor sat silent; her dark eyes flashing from
time to time in vehement interest — sometimes in
vehement indignation if Mr. Corbet, riding a-tilt
at every one, ventured to attack her father. He
saw how this course excited her, and rather
liked pursuing it in consequence; he thought it
only amused him.

Another way in which Ellinor and Mr. Corbet
were thrown together occasionally was this.
Mr. Ness and Mr. Wilkins shared the same
Times between them; and it was Ellinor's duty
to see that the paper was regularly taken from
her father's house to the parsonage. Her father
liked to dawdle over it. Until Mr. Corbet had
come to live with him, Mr. Ness had not much
cared at what time it was passed on to him;
but the young man took a strong interest in all
public events, and especially in all that was said
about them. He grew impatient if the paper
was not forthcoming, and would set off himself
to go for it, sometimes meeting the penitent
breathless Ellinor in the long lane which led from
Hamley to Mr. Wilkins's house. At first he
used to receive her eager "Oh! I am so sorry,
Mr. Corbet, but papa has only just done with
it," rather gruffly. After a time he had the
grace to tell her it did not signify; and by-and-by
he would turn back with her to give her some
advice about her garden, or her plants — for his
mother and sisters were first-rate practical
gardeners, and he himself was, as he expressed it,
"a capital consulting physician for a sickly
plant."

All this time his voice, his step, never raised
the child's colour one shade the higher, never
made her heart beat the least quicker, as the
slightest sign of her father's approach was wont to
do. She learnt to rely on Mr. Corbet for advice,
for a little occasional sympathy, and for much
condescending attention. He also gave her more
fault-finding than all the rest of the world put
together; and, curiously enough, she was grateful
to him for it, for she really was humble, and
wished to improve. He liked the attitude of
superiority which this implied and exercised
right gave him. They were very good friends at
present. Nothing more.

All this time I have only spoken of Mr. Wilkins's
life as he stood in relation to his daughter.
But there is far more to be said about it. After
his wife's death he withdrew himself from society
for a year or two in a more positive and decided
manner than is common with widowers. It was
during this retirement of his that he riveted his
little daughter's heart in such a way as to influence
all her future life.

When he began to go out again, it might have
been perceived— had any one cared to notice—
how much the different characters of his father
and wife had influenced him and kept him steady.
Not that he broke out into any immoral conduct,
but he gave up time to pleasure, which both old
Mr. Wilkins and Lettice would have quietly
induced him to spend in the office, superintending
his business. His indulgence in hunting, and all
field-sports, had hitherto been only occasional;
they now became habitual, as far as the seasons
permitted. He shared a moor in Scotland with
one of the Holsters one year, persuading himself
that the bracing air was good for Ellinor's health.
But the year afterwards he took another, this
time joining with a comparative stranger; and
on this moor there was no house to which it was
fit to bring a child and her attendants. He persuaded
himself that by frequent journeys he could
make up for his absences from Hamley. But
journeys cost money; and he was often away
from his office when important business required