my head was nearly turned, and I almost
spoiled it all. I met my Lord Castlereagh
that evening at a soirée, and I could not hold
my tongue."

"'My lord!' I said, 'you would not guess
on what a notable occupation I have been
engaged this afternoon?'

"His lordship bowed.

"'I have been making a pasty,' I said.

"'A pasty?' said his lordship, quite astray.

"' A pasty,' I said. 'Would not your lordship
like a slice?'

"When I looked at M., who was beside me,
she had turned white, and like to faint. But
his lordship only put his finger to his forehead,
on the sly, as he turned away with a friend. I
did not mind his thinking me mad, my dear.
The far-fetched idea was a providential
inspiration. Ridiculous as it may seem, it covered
my indiscretion."

Many more tales like this did Miss Madge
relate to Hester; but were I to follow her
never so swiftly through them all, I should
utterly lose the thread of this, my history.
But Lady Humphrey had the pith of them all
in Hester's faithful letters.

CHAPTER XVll. SIR ARCHIE TAKES A WALK DOWN
THE GLEN.

IT happened that on a ruddy November
morning, Sir Archie met Hester coming along
one of the shadowy, cloister-like upper corridors,
with her arms full of white draperies—
materials for finery no doubt—which fell over her
shoulders, and drooped to her feet, and swathed
her about like a winding-sheet. It might have
been the reflection from all these white things,
but her face seemed pale and her eyes had a
startled look. Hester was nearly scared out of
her life by the fears and wonders of the times,
learned from nods, and signs, and hints of the
servants, and the fantastic whispers of the
Honourable Madge.

Hester curtseyed to Sir Archie; who bowed
low to Hester, as low as if she had been
a duchess. He stepped out of his way to open
the door through which she had to pass; for
which civility Hester dropped him a second
curtsey; for which second curtsey Sir Archie
made her another bow.

After she had vanished, Sir Archie walked
down to his library with a slightly vexed look
on his face. And he knew why he was vexed,
which is not always the case with every one;
but Sir Archie was not a man to be vexed about
nothing. The trouble had passed from his face,
however, by the time he took a book from the
table and opened it at once at a place in which
a mark had been laid. It was a volume of old-
fashioned "characters," which most people
know.

"She doth," said the noted page, "all things
with so sweet a grace, it seems ignorance will
nor suffer her to do ill, being her mind is to do
well."

Sir Archie read with a peculiar smile, laid
down the book, and went out. He whistled
to his dogs, and set off to walk down the
glen.

There was an autumn flush still lingering
about the world; though the frost was in the
air. Very glorious colours dyed the mountain's
sides, and a lustrous haze had strayed down
out of the clouds and trailed its ragged splendour
through deep gloomy gorges, and over bluff
rocky crowns. The sea lay in the distance, a
plain of misty blue, with moving streaks of
violet where the clouds were passing. The
foam of the river, the ascending smoke from
cottages, a white gable, a yellow thatch, all
caught a glow from that crimson blush with
which the sun looked on the earth. Trees on
high ground were getting bare; the golden
bars of cloud began to show between their
trunks, behind the fretwork of their branches,
almost stripped.

Sir Archie walked leisurely down the glen.
He had a word to say here and there, and he
turned aside into fields, and made descents into
farm-yards or orchards that he might say it.
He stopped at the forge at the corner of the
road. The blacksmith was shoeing a farmer's
horse, and Sir Archie had a chat with the
blacksmith and the farmer. It was no use to
think of talking of hay only; of a new roof for
the forge; of the supply of turf saved for the
winter among the poor; of the good harvest.
The news of the day would be spoken of, and
curses would come out, and fists would be
clenched.

"You're a kind man, Sir Archie, an' a good
lan'lord," said the blacksmith, sturdily, "an' my
heart's wish and duty to you an' yours! But
do you go an' talk about pace to them that
hasn't got the steel between their ribs. I have
a brother in the county Wicklow, an honest
man, an' a good pacable man, an' that man was
sent home to his wife an' childher the other day
with a pitch cap on his shaved head. My
sarvice to them with a willin' heart! but they've
manyfactured a couple o' rebels to their hand,
at wan sthroke!" And the blacksmith let fall
his heavy hammer on the anvil, so that the red
iron quivered, and the sparks flew up in showers
all about his grim face.

The farmer was a gentle-looking old man,
who had been riding a horse to that forge to be
shod for over sixty years at the least.

"My son, your honour," he said, clearing a
huskiness out of his throat, and beginning to
speak in a quivering voice. " Your honour,
my son——-"

But suddenly broke down and burst into
tears.

Half an hour afterwards, Sir Archie, proceeding
on his way, left the two men still cursing
and mourning over the anvil.

A bit further down the glen, a turning in the
road brought him face to face with the happy
eyes and bright cheeks of Mrs. Hazeldean.

"Who is sick or scheming now?'' he said.
He was much more like the brother of his handsome
aunt than her nephew. Sometimes he