fingers closed tightly over her mother's letter;
but she put it into her pocket with the other,
and waited with outward patience until all the
children had finished their afternoon practice.
Then she ran up to her sleeping-room, and
opened her mother's letter first. Her mother
and Dooley coming to Eastfield next day. What
could it mean? As she read on, her astonishment
increased. Coming to Eastfield with Mr.
Clement Charlewood! And no word of reply
as to the subject on which she had written to
her mother! It was incomprehensible. She
read the letter again.

"You will come and dine with us, dearest
Mabel. Saturday being a half-holiday, I know
you will not be very busy. Ask Mrs. Hatchett,
with my best compliments, to spare you. We
shall arrive in Eastfield by the 2.15 train from
Hammerham, and will send for you at once.
All explanations when we meet. Dooley is mad
with delight."

Coming to Eastfield with Mr. Clement
Charlewood!

Mrs. Saxelby had mentioned from time to
time in her letters that young Mr. Charlewood
called frequently; that he was very kind
and friendly; that he and Dooley got on
capitally together; and so forth. But all this had not
conveyed to Mabel the confidential terms on
which he now was with her mother. Indeed,
if Clement Charlewood could have known how
seldom Mabel's thoughts had dwelt on him at
all, during the time of her sojourn in Eastfield,
he would have been much grieved, and a little
mortified. He had thought so much of her.

Mabel sat pondering on the side of her bed,
with her mother's letter in her hand, until a
pattering footstep on the stairs disturbed her,
and a breathless little girl came running up to
say that Miss Earnshaw was wanted to read
dictation to the French class, and was to please
to come directly.

"I will follow you immediately," said Mabel,
rising. "Run down and prepare your books."

As soon as the child was gone, Mabel pulled
the other letter out of her pocket, and read it
hastily. It was a very brief note from Mr.
Trescott, written in a cramped thin little hand,
and ran thus:

23, New Bridge-street, Hammerham,
Jan. 12.

"Dear Madam. In reply to your favour of
the 7th inst., I beg to say that the last time
I heard of Mrs. Walton she was engaged, with
her family, in the York circuit. I do not
know whether she is still there; but I have
little doubt that a letter addressed to her,
care of R. Price, Esq., Theatre Royal, York,
would find her. Mr. Price is the lessee.

"I am, dear Madam,
"Your obedient Servant,"
"J. TRESCOTT.

"P.S. My little girl sends you her best
love, and often speaks of your kindness to
her.—J. T."

Mabel's day came to an end at last, and, at
about nine o'clock, when all the pupils were in
bed, she tapped at the door of Mrs. Hatchett's
sitting-room, and went in to ask permission to
accept her mother's invitation. Mrs. Hatchett
was sitting near a starved and wretched little
fire, and a small table beside her was covered
with bills and letters. Mrs. Hatchett was
making up her accounts. She was a thin white
woman, with a long face. Mabel could never help
associating her countenance with that of an
old grey pony which drew the baker's cart, and
came daily to the door. There was a length
of upper lip and a heavy ruminating stolidity in
Mrs. Hatchett's face, highly suggestive of the
comparison.

"Be seated, Miss Earnshaw," said the
schoolmistress, waving her hand, encased in a
black woollen mitten; "I will attend to you
immediately."

Mabel sat down, and Mrs. Hatchett's pointed
pen scratched audibly over the paper for a few
minutes; then she collected her bills and
papers, tied them into bundles with
miscellaneous scraps of faded ribbon, and signified,
by a majestic bend of the head, that she was
ready to give audience. Mabel duly presented
her mother's compliments, and requested
permission to be absent on the following afternoon.
Mrs. Hatchett accorded the desired permission,
and Mabel went to bed.

When, at three o'clock next day, a fly arrived
at Mrs. Hatchett's to take Mabel to the hotel,
she stepped into it, almost angry with herself at
the apprehensive dread she felt. When the fly
drew up at the door of the hotel, there stood
Clement Charlewood waiting to receive her, and
in another minute she had run up-stairs and was
clasped in her mother's arms, with Dooley
clinging round her.

"Dearest mamma! Darling Dooley! Why,
what foolish people we are, all of us," exclaimed
Mabel. "Any one would suppose we were
quite sorry to see each other!" For the tears
were standing in her own eyes, and Mrs. Saxelby
was wiping hers away. By-and-by, when the
first flush had died from Mabel's cheek, her
mother noticed that she was pale and hollow-
eyed, and that she had grown very thin.

Then Mrs. Saxelby explained that Mr.
Charlewood had said he would go and attend
to the business which had called him to
Eastfield and would leave her free to speak with her
daughter.

"Oh, he is here on business?" said Mabel.

"Well, yes, partly. But it is business that
I dare say will all be done in half an hour;
he wished to invite Dooley to dinner, and took
this opportunity of having us all together."

"Then this is Mr. Julian Saxelby's dinner, is
it?" said Mabel, kissing her little brother's
curly head.

"'Es," replied Dooley, " but it ain't all for
me. 'Oo, an' mamma, and Mr. Tarlewood is to
have dinner too. I love 'oo, Tibby," added
the child, pressing his fair forehead against his
sister's breast, and clasping her waist with his
arms.