side," was the somewhat dignified response. "It was my own choice to keep you company this morning, instead of breakfasting alone. Dorothy always brings me a cup of tea in my room. times, though not often, I wait for Guy." "Indeed! Is he so late? I thought I heard him go out last night," was Dym's thoughtless

answer.

Mrs. Chichester, who was moving to the table, looked a little surprised that her son's movements had been observed.

"Yes, he very often gives Kelpie a run. Then he is a great reader, and almost always sits up at night when he is at home. My son rarely breakfasts with us. But it strikes me I have forgotten my first duty as a hostess. I hope you have slept well, Miss Elliott."

"Very well," commenced Dym.

And then, as though in flat contradiction of his mother's words, Mr. Chichester walked into the

room.

"What, Guy, up already!"

"Down, I suppose you mean. Good-morning, mother," kissing her; "good-morning, Miss Elliott. Well, have you slept off your fatigue yet?" "Oh, yes," observed Dym joyously.

The prospect of her tete-a-tete meal with Mrs. Chichester had appeared rather formidable. In spite of his abruptness and occasional sarcasm, she was beginning to look upon Mr. Chichester as an old acquaintance, and to feel more at home when he was present. She still stood in awe of him, it was true; but in his genial moods he could put her at her ease with him, and his face and voice always recalled St. Luke's. She had at notion that he could be very formidable, too, on occasions; but on this first morning the squire looked as smooth as his own beard; under some circumstances that could be rough also.

"I'll be bound you have written to Will Clericus already. Look at her, mother; she begins to redden already like a culprit."

"I did that last night; but I have not finished my letter; I got so sleepy," stammered Dym.

"Serves you right. Couldn't he wait another day? I telegraphed to him that you had arrived safely?"

"Did you, Mr. Chichester? How very kind!" "I suppose I was in one of my amiable moods last night. It will prevent anxiety in No. 3 Paradise Row. Did you see there was another horrible

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And the twinkle of his eyes said plainly, "Your work is beginning already, you see." But Mrs. Chichester, as though her son's joke did not quite please her, changed the subject altogether.

Mrs. Chichester spent her mornings in a large upper room looking over the porch, and leading out of the blue chamber. It was called her dresssing-room; but there were no other evidences of her toilette than were contained in the heavy japanned boxes where, years afterward, Dym found relics and hoards of fine cobwebby lace, an Oriental chain of pearls, and other old heirlooms.

The room was pleasant, and had a delightful view from one of the windows, beside which was an old high-backed chair of carved oak, and a table covered profusely with books and works. At this table Dym found herself ensconced shortly after breakfast, but the Times as yet had not been taken up.

"Do not read just yet; I want to talk to you. It seems to me that we ought to know each other a little," Mrs. Chichester had observed, with a peremptory graciousness which had driven the girl into shamefaced silence.

Already Dym had discovered she was a little afraid of Mrs. Chichester, in spite of her beauty and goodness. Dym was quite sure, from her son's account, that she was very good.

"We ought to know each other a little betterdon't you think so? My son and I both hope you will be happy here, Miss Elliott."

Dym hoped so, too, with all her heart, but she assented only briefly.

"My son has taken a great interest in St. Luke's and in your brother. Guy exaggerates a little in his descriptions, but he will have it that your brother is little short of a saint."

"There is no one like Will," said Dym; but the tears sprang to her eyes. In mentioning St. Luke's, Mrs. Chichester had effectually broken

the ice.

"Yes, Mr. Elliott seems a thorough clergyman, What a pity he is in such poor health! We must have him down here, and see what Yorkshire air will do for him."

"Oh, thank you!" cried Dym gratefully. She was quite touched by this unexpected kindness. She gave Mrs. Chichester a moving little account of Will's long illness and heroism, and his selfdenying labors in the parish. "The poorer a person is, the better Will seems to like him. He will have it," finished the little sister, "that a sick person ought to excite our reverence rather than our compassion. He quotes that from his favorite saint, St. Francis de Sales."

"St. Louis of France used to tend the sick on his knees, with uncovered head. I like these notions," moralised the elder lady. "These sentiments of respect are not common among young people nowadays. As Guy says, the old chivalry of religion is fast dying out. I daresay," speaking hesitatingly, as though doubtful of her own prudence-"I daresay Mr. Elliott somewhat wondered at my son's sudden devotion to St. Luke's."

"I think Will was rather perplexed at first," said Dym, honestly.

"And afterward? I hope you do not think me curious; but Guy is so unlike other men, that I cannot help wondering what people think of his sudden flights and fancies."

Here was a dilemma; but Dym met it sturdily. "Will said it was a whim evidently that brought Mr. Chichester to St. Luke's; but he was glad of his help, nevertheless, and they got on very well together. I don't think Mr. Chichester said much about himself in all these weeks, and it was only a guess of Will's that it was all excitement and restlessness that drove him to the work. I think he got it into his head that Mr. Chichester was not quite happy."

Dym was hardly wise in her excessive candor; for though Mrs. Chichester had evidently got the answer she expected, an expression of pain crossed her face; she took up some work, sighed, and laid it down again.

"There is no reason why my son should not be happy," she returned, rather proudly, as though something in Dym's speech offended her. "Few men are blessed with more advantages. I suppose," speaking to herself, "spoiled children are always more or less capricious, and cry for the

moon.

The cleverer a man is, the more numerous his idiosyncrasies-don't you think so, Miss Elliott? I daresay even your brother has his whims?"

Dym, who felt she had touched on delicate ground, and was justly rebuked, said, "Yes;" and then trusted the subject would be changed.

Dym had not been four-and-twenty hours in the house, yet already instinctively she felt that there would be danger in claiming any prior intimacy with Mr. Chichester, or in betraying familiarity with his pet hobbies. With all Mrs. Chichester's gentleness, there was a standoffishness and a tone of monopoly in all that concerned her son. He was evidently the object of her intense idolatry; but before many days were over Dym argued shrewdly that she guarded her mother's prerogative a little too jealously.

Her devotion to him was unselfish, but it lacked one element to insure perfection. Mrs. Chichester loved her son, and her affection was most warmly reciprocated; but she did not thoroughly understand him; in some moods she was even a little afraid of him.

Mother's love is not always exempt from this fear; some women glory in it. The oft-repeated story of the hen who rears a duckling, and then sees her nursling take to the unknown element, is true of many a mother. The young divinity she has worshipped from his infancy suddenly breaks loose from his swaddling-bands, abandons the leading reins, puts aside the fond hand that restrained him, and breaks out into devious ways, or carves out new paths for himself away from the old landmarks. One can imagine the mother stretching out her hands across that unknown territory, and praying him to return. Perchance the wind carries back some light mocking answer. Where is the child she has known? A few of these foolish hearts go on burning their candles and kneeling before their empty shrines. The wiser among them trim their household lamp, and make the hearth-fire burn cheerily. By and by these young prodigals-these wanderers lost in their own mists -will come back, allured and cheered by the old lights, and condescend to be warmed by them.

"Faith as a grain of mustard seed." What mother is there who needs not to possess that?

Dym had made a wrong calculation in repeating her brother's words; Mrs. Chichester still harped upon it.

"Is not a lady on terms of equality with any gentleman, mother?" demanded Guy pointedly.

My dear boy, I must entreat you not to get Quixotic. I am talking mere worldly wisdom to you now. Of course, if Miss Elliott be a sensible girl, as she must be, considering she is your hero's sister, she will soon see for herself that you hold a different position here from that you occupied in her brother's house; it would never do for any companion to be on terms of easy familiarity with the master of the house."

Which means I am not to say a civil word, I suppose? Is that what you call being kind to her? O patronage, not frailty, thy name is woman."

"Guy, do not be absurd! I never knew one's own son could be so trying. Be civil by all means; but as you insist on having her at all our family meals when we are alone, I should think it would be well to be a little careful, especially for the first few days; for," finished Mrs. Chichester, with most praiseworthy solemnity, considering the incredulous smile on Guy's face, "I intend to begin as we are to go on.'

"So do I," sotto voce; and then the squire stroked his beard and said, "Pish!" and "Pshaw!" rather audibly. "Have you quite done, mother?" Mrs. Chichester rose and shook her head. "O Guy, Guy, it is no use talking to you, I see then."

"A wilful nan maun have his way," in broad Scotch, "I suppose you mean. How long have you learnt such wisdom, mère chérie ?" And as proof that the argument was finished, the squire politely handed his mother to the door and rang for coffee.

And the next day, when Mrs. Chichester was giving orders to Dorothy to meet Miss Elliott in the pony-carriage, the squire coolly put his head in at the door and announced his intention of meeting the train himself.

Mrs. Chichester had sufficient tact not to remonstrate. Probably by this time she had learnt her lesson, and knew it would be useless.

But her delicate and subtle woman's instinct scented trouble afar. Miss Elliott was very, very young, and painfully unsophisticated; and Guy's bonhomie bordered on radicalism; and though she knew her son was fire-proof, one was never safe with these young girls, she thought; they were always taking fancies in their head, and thinking themselves badly used.

Which shows, as Mrs. Chichester had never had a companion in her life before, that this lady was not devoid of the astute wisdom generally assigned to the mothers of families.

She had her idol and her golden pedestal all complete, but she wanted to fence it around with palings of conventionalities, for fear unhallowed footsteps might approach too near.

It was all waste time and labor, for Mr. Chichester knew very well what he was about; and being singularly without vanity, and as guileless in such things as a child, in spite of his shrewdness, was just the man who would do unwise things out of pure kindness.

He had his own notions how his protégée was to be treated at Ingleside, and these notions being somewhat nice and Quixotic, there was fear that, unless his mother achieved the happy medium with respect to Miss Elliott, he might run into the other extreme, and overdo the thing, to make up for her coldness.

And all the time his conscience would be perfectly clear; for in spite of his sarcasms he was very anxious to draw the right line between Miss Elliott and himself, and, if truth must be told, he hardly thought on the subject at all till his mother brought it up, his mind being full of other things.

Kindness and generosity were Guy Chichester's chief characteristics; unfortunately they were not always exercised with a due amount of prudence. Herein lay the danger.

He was so kind to Dym, that Dym would have to learn for herself that he was kind to every one else.

And he was so used to be adored, that a little adoration, more or less, would hardly be noticed by him.

He met them at the dining-room door on the morning in question with a most reproachful face.

"Mother, where have you been? The gong has sounded just ten minutes-you will be late for the field. Miss Elliott not even dressed!"

Dym looked down abashed, feeling all of a sudden painfully conscious of her neat cambric, and doubtful in her own mind whether the sumptuary laws at Ingleside might not necessitate a fresh. toilette for luncheon. Mrs. Chichester's next words dispelled this terrible fear,

"Nonsense, Guy; we have plenty of time; I am not dressed myself. Kate asked me to call for her about a quarter to three; there is not the

slightest occasion for us to be on the field so early."

"I see, the whole court is to assemble at the vicarage gate and form into grand procession. hear the Cheviots and Saunders are coming over from Harrogate, and the Harcourts from Knares. borough. I am glad you have stuck to the old régime-cold collation at seven instead of dinner." "And mind you do not bring too many people, Guy," returned his mother, warmingly; "this room will not hold over twenty comfortably."

"If the numbers are overwhelming, we can draft them off to the vicarage. Kate likes a crowd. I went over there this morning; such a fuss she was making. She had even turned Latimer out of his study. If I were a husband I should hate to confess I were henpecked. There were his papers all huddled together, and the poor man driven to play cricket with his boys in a shady corner of the field. There's one thing I admire about you, mother: you never make a fuss.”

"Catherine is generally considered a good manager," returned Mrs. Chichester, by no means indifferent to this praise.

"Management ceases to be good when it is evolved with discomfort and noise," returned her son, somewhat dogmatically. "Can't you send Dorothy down there to help ?-all the maids were running about and looking so fagged. Kate will be telling everybody this afternoon that she is so done up, and can hardly stand. Such nonsense; and all forsooth because the London cousins are coming. How I do hate toadyism !"

"Guy, my dear," remonstrated Mrs. Chichester -her glance added, "we are not alone." But Guy, who was helping himself to pickles, coolly went on with his list of grievances.

"And there, in the midst of it, was little Grace Dunster, unpicking a dress of my lady's. I had up my lady, and talked to her seriously. I must own Kate had the grace to look ashamed of herself."

"O Guy, when will you leave off meddling in other people's business? Fancy ordering off Kate's dressmaker !"

"She had no business to be working at the vicarage to-day, when the whole village has a general holiday; it is insubordination to the ruling powers. That's me!" striking his broad chest with his hand, and laughing at his mother's horrified face. "Catherine plays the gray mare

"Well, that was sensible, Guy; better than your drudging at it yourself, as you did last year.” "Yes; wasn't it? I was only on the field from ten to one. My argument with Catherine occurred just before the gong sounded."

Mrs. Chichester's "Oh, indeed!" did not sound so well pleased.

"I am glad you don't call three hours' labor in in the hot sun drudgery; it has made me pretty hungry, though. Miss Elliott, if you won't have any more cold beef, I advise you to go and put on that pink muslin.”

The squire was issuing his own orders; but Dym kept her place, and colored distressfully, and her eyes asked him so plainly the reason of this mandate, that he laid down his knife and fork in surprise.

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What, have you not told her, mother? Miss Elliott goes with us, of course."

"Yes, of course," returned Mrs. Chichester. "I was only waiting till luncheon was over to tell Miss Elliott myself."

"Rather late in the day, is it not? Well, they say "it is never too late to mend." All the same. I hope that pink muslin is ready." And disregarding his mother's disapproving looks, he rattled on. "You see this is a gala day at Birstwith, and we all put on our go-to meeting clothes, as Dame Ford expresses it. Why, my mother has even ordered me to wear a blue frock-coat for the occasion."

"What occasion ?" timidly asked Dym.

If she had only another cool summer dress to wear instead of that pink muslin! Poor Dym, she was keenly alive to the impropriety of which the squire had been guilty in betraying such an intimate knowledge of her resources. She could not well explain to Mrs. Chichester that he had come upon her in the midst of her dressmaking labors; but she was aware how strange it must sound in her motherly ears.

"What occasion is it ?" she asked, feeling all of a sudden that not even the salt of kindness can make the bread of dependence perfectly sweet.