instinct was too fine and sure to allow him to
deceive himself on these points, made him neither
more submissive to criticism, nor more tolerant
of those who administered it. Then the future!
Alfred was not much wont to look forward, but
there were times when the question, what was
to become of him? forced itself very disagreeably
on his attention. Fortune did not seem inclined
to favour him in his love either. Corda's visit
to Desmond Lodge, which he had looked
forward to as a means of gradually re-establishing
the intimacy between Mabel and himself, had
hitherto produced no such result as he had
anticipated. The child had provokingly fallen sick
after her visit to Mabel, and had been unable
to go again. Then, too, Corda had latterly
taken a strange habit of reticence in her talk
with him. On the rare occasions when he had
formerly condescended to converse with his
sister, she had shown, by the eager, artless
outpouring of her thoughts, how she prized the
opportunity of affectionate confidence with him.
Now, on the contrary, although more loving
and tender in her manner than ever, Corda
could not be tempted into speaking openly of
Mabel. She would answer such questions as
she could briefly, but would volunteer no word.
Sometimes, if Alfred were in a gentle mood, she
would twine her little slender fingers in his, and
rest her head on his shoulder, and sit so, silent,
for half an hour together. Once, after remaining
thus for some time, she suddenly threw her
arms round him, crying, " Oh! Alf, oh! Alf,
be good, be good! I love you so, Alf, do be
good! " and had fallen into almost hysterical
weeping. This singular proceeding had been
highly displeasing to her brother, who, to do
him justice, was uneasy at the extreme weakness
which the child showed, and which
appeared to increase daily. Alfred had said some
word to his father about having another doctor
to see pussy-cat, and getting her wine and
strengthening things; but Mr. Trescott, with
the sort of infatuation not unprecedented in
similar cases, had refused to acknowledge the
least cause for alarm in Corda's state of health.
Certainly she should have wine, and soup, and
jelly, and whatever she fancied; but as to
danger! pooh, it was absurd. The child had never
looked better. She was growing fast, and was
naturally thin in consequence, that was all.

Alfred Trescott walking away from the Surrey
side of the river, where he had left Walter in
the obscure tavern, towards the aristocratic
though somewhat old-fashioned square in which
Lady Popham's mansion was situated, had his
little sister's image unaccountably in his mind.
"By Jove," he said, mentally, "if pussy-cat
doesn't get stronger soon, and if nothing turns
up for me here, I would almost — almost — be
tempted to accept the old woman's offer, and
go abroad for a year with Corda. The governor
could rub on all right with only himself to keep;
and perhaps thorough change of air and scene
and the delight of being with me — poor pussy-cat,
how fond she is of me! — might set her up
again. And if I were to work in earnest, who
knows? Away from all these people, and with
no face that I know except that pretty, fair
little one — it is a sweet little face — who knows?"
It was in this unwonted gentleness of spirit,
and with these unwontedly kind thoughts in
his mind, that Alfred reached Lady Popham's
door. He had so long been treated like a petted
child of the house, privileged to be admitted at
all hours, that it never occurred to him to
inquire if Lady Popham were within, or to go
through any of the formalities usual on making
a call. The servant who had opened the door
stopped him as he was walking across the hall.
"I beg pardon, sir, but I'm not sure that my
lady's at home."

"No matter; I will go into the little
morning-room, and wait for her. There is some
music there that I want."

"Very sorry, Mr. Trescott, but my lady isn't
at all well, and can't see anybody."

"Not well? Is my lady unwell? However,
I shall not disturb her; I will go into the
morning-room and get what I want."

"Really, Mr. Trescott, I can't allow——"

Alfred turned and looked at the man. There
was something unusual in his tone, and he had
planted himself so as to bar the access to the
morning-room. Alfred's face darkened.

"Do you know who I am?" he asked, with
the haughty insolence of manner which
characterised his intercourse with inferiors.

"Oh yes, Mr. Alfred Trescott," rejoined the
servant doggedly, " I know who you are,
perfectly. But my orders are not to allow you to
pass, and I mean to carry out my orders."

Whilst Alfred was standing, literally speechless
with astonishment, the man called to the
butler, who was passing down the stairs,
"Oh, Mr. Mitchell, ain't there a note for this
gentleman?"

"Yes," said Mr. Mitchell, advancing with a
letter in his hand; " yes, there is a note. My
lady particularly desired that I should deliver
it myself into Mr. Trescott's hand. You will
please to observe, James, that I do deliver
it into Mr. Trescott's hand. You had better
show the gentleman out, if you please, James.
If my lady hears voices in the hall, it will
worry her, and my lady's hearing is very
quick."

Still speechless, stunned, bewildered, Alfred
allowed himself to be half elbowed, half led, out
of the hall, without having uttered a syllable.
The sharp closing of the door appeared to rouse
him as though from a dream. The furious
temper began to surge up like an angry sea,
but utter astonishment still kept him outwardly
calm. He looked at the closed door, and then
at the letter in his hand. " Insolent hounds!"
he ground out between his clenched teeth, "you
shall pay for this." Then a thought darted
into his mind, "Can she be very ill? dying?
and are they already calculating on her death,
and think it no longer worth while to be civil?
Or Skidley and Miss O'Brien, are they trying
to keep me out of her sight, for fear she should
leave me anything in her will? At any rate,