darkness of the wood beyond, he saw in her
face her application of his very distinctly
uttered words.

"All allowance," he continued, " must be
made. I have one great fault to find with
Tom, however, which I cannot forgive, and
for which I take him heavily to account."

Louisa turned her eyes to his face, and
asked him what fault was that?

"Perhaps," he returned, " I have said
enough. Perhaps it would have been better,
on the whole, if no allusion to it had escaped
me."

"You alarm me, Mr. Harthouse. Pray let
me know it."

"To relieve you from needless apprehension
—and as this confidence regarding your
brother, which I prize I am sure above all
possible things, has been established between
us—I obey. I cannot forgive him for not being
more sensible, in every word, look, and act of
his life, of the affection of his best friend; of
the devotion of his best friend; of her
unselfishness; of her sacrifice. The return he
makes her, within my observation, is a very
poor one. What she has done for him demands
his constant love and gratitude, not his ill-
humour and caprice. Careless fellow as I am,
I am not so indifferent, Mrs. Bounderby, as
to be regardless of this vice in your brother,
or inclined to consider it a venial offence."

The wood floated before her, for her eyes
were suffused with tears. They rose from a
deep well, long concealed, and her heart was
filled with acute pain that found no relief in
them.

"In a word, it is to correct your brother in
this, Mrs. Bounderby, that I most aspire. My
better knowledge of his circumstances, and
my direction and advice in extricating him—
rather valuable, I hope, as coming from a
scapegrace on a much larger scale—will give
me some influence over him, and all I gain I
shall certainly use towards this end. I have
said enough, and more than enough. I seem
to be protesting that I am a sort of good
fellow, when, upon my honor, I have not the
least intention to make any protestation to
that effect, and openly announce that I am
nothing of the sort. Yonder, among the trees,"
he added, having lifted up his eyes and looked
about; for he had watched her closely until
now; "is your brother himself; no doubt,
just come down. As he seems to be loitering
in this direction, it may be as well, perhaps,
to walk towards him, and throw ourselves in
his way. He has been very silent and doleful
of late. Perhaps, his brotherly conscience is
touched—if there are such things as
consciences. Though, upon my honor, I hear of;
them much too often to believe in them."

He assisted her to rise, and she took his
arm, and they advanced to meet the whelp,
He was idly beating the branches as he
lounged along: or he stopped viciously to rip
the moss from the trees with his stick. He
was startled when they came upon him while
he was engaged in this latter pastime, and his
color changed.

"Halloa! " he stammered, "I didn't know
you were here."

"Whose name, Tom," said Mr. Harthouse,
putting his hand upon his shoulder and turning
him, so that they all three walked towards
the house together, ' have you been carving
on the trees?"

"Whose name?" returned Tom. "Oh!
You mean what girl's name?"

"You have a suspicious appearance of
inscribing some fair creature's on the bark,
Tom."

"Not much of that, Mr. Harthouse, unless
some fair creature with a slashing fortune at her
own disposal would take a fancy to me. Or she
might be as ugly as she was rich, without any
fear of losing me. I'd carve her name as often
as she liked."

"I'm afraid you are mercenary, Tom."

"Mercenary," repeated Tom. " Who is not
mercenary?  Ask my sister."

"Have you so proved it to be a failing of
mine, Tom? " said Louisa, showing no other
sense of his discontent and ill-nature.

"You know whether the cap fits you, Loo,"
returned her brother sulkily. " If it does, you
can wear it."

"Tom is misanthropical to day, as all bored
people are, now and then," said Mr.
Harthouse. " Don't believe him, Mrs. Bounderby.
He knows much better. I shall disclose some
of his opinions of you, privately expressed to
me, unless he relents a little."

At all events, Mr. Harthouse," said Tom,
softening in his admiration of his patron, but
shaking his head sullenly too, " you can't tell
her that I ever praised her for being mercenary.
I may have praised her for being the
contrary, and I should do it again if I had as
good reason. However, never mind this now;
it's not very interesting to you, and I am sick
of the subject."

They walked on to the house, where Louisa
quitted her visitor's arm and went in. He
stood looking after her, as she ascended the
steps, and passed into the shadow of the door;
then put his hand upon her brother's shoulder
again, and invited him with a confidential nod
to a walk in the garden.

"Tom, my fine fellow, I want to have a
word with you."

They had stopped among a disorder of
roses—it was part of Mr. Bounderby's
humility to keep Nickits's roses on a
reduced scale—and Tom sat down on a
terrace-parapet, plucking buds and picking
them to pieces; while his powerful Familiar
stood over him, with a foot upon the parapet,
and his figure easily resting on the arm
supported by that knee. They were just visible
from her window. Perhaps she saw them.

"Tom, what's the matter ? "

"Oh! Mr. Harthouse," said Tom, with a
groan, "I am hard up, and bothered out of
my life."