'That is early youth to most men.'

'No doubt something is due to the perpetual weariness and "do nothingness" that belong to the complaint, and make me feel getting done with it all. Soon I shall free myself of being rector here, the endowment of East Ewmouth is settled, the building begins in the spring. A long minority will right the estate, and work off its burthens, and I have had unexpected opportunities of putting things in train; but if I go on, the task of making both ends meet must continue hard. I suppose recovery would bring back zest and vigour, but as I am now, it is like a lame horse at grass, shrinking from a return to the load, the mire and the ruts, and the assurances of rest acquire a sweetness they never had before. If I had only done my part fully, and could say to my father, 'Behold me and the children thou hast given me!' but when I count my hundred thousand errors, and remember what makes up for them, it seems little if the last passage should be a hard one, as I suppose it will. Oh!' breaking off short, 'I should not have run on like this. It must be the worst thing for your eyes.'

'This is an odd way of helping you,' said Mr Audley, struggling for composure. 'I ought to be thankful to see you like this, but I am selfishly disappointed. I had reckoned on seeing you in the prime of your usefulness and honors, and happiness.'

'Here's plenty of happiness,' returned Felix, with his brightest smile; 'and I've not yet given up the uses nor the honors of Squire Underwood. In fact, I hear the carriages coming, and must go and see the people off. Will that serve for honors? it would have seemed like them twelve years ago.'

Uneasy about the eyes that had been swimming in perilous tears, he continued, changing his tone from the thoughtful to the lively: 'It is our only entertainment this year, of course, but I was forced to have Lamb here on business, and we thought it would please his wife.'

'Is she?'

'Yes, Alice Knevett. Prettier than ever,' he answered. 'Will you come out, or shall I leave you for these few minutes?'

The longing to watch him prompted Mr. Audley to follow him, though with little mind to face any one, and in a few moments it hardly seemed credible that the man who had been speaking of carrying the sentence of death within himself was the same who was so cheerfully and easily going through the friendly courtesies of a host—pausing with a face full of quiet humour to point out Captain Audley acting beneficent rover, though it was his first time of touching a mallet since he had been a guardsman, and croquet a novelty of high life.

Here too came the introduction to Major Harewood, never seen before, and the Reverend William, last seen as Lance's shock-headed friend, a terror to Wilmet and Cherry, and frightening the babies with his mesmerism.

It was still light enough for the grand tour, and Felix, though leaning and resting at every pause, would not be denied the going through the whole, showing it off with a kind of affectionate exultation rather increased than diminished since the day of taking possession. The character of the place had altered a good deal since that day when he had first seen it. It must be owned that some of the perfect trimness of turf and shrubbery had gone, and that some stable windows were broken, and their yard grass-grown, and the Vicarage Sunday school had an aspect which thirteen colonial years could not prevent the baronet's son from feeling at first sight a little disreputable. The half-finished Rectory of the future, where the Curate for whom Clement was advertising was to live, was on the glebe land on the other side of the church. Altogether, the house and grounds might be in less dainty order; but there was a look of life about every window, and the lawn was glowing with the bright tints of geraniums and verbenas, while dog, cat, kittens, and doves, to say nothing of the human creatures, imparted an air of gladness and animation, and the Virginian creeper on the cloister hung like a magnificent purple curtain over the scene. The dreary deserted aspect of church and churchyard which had at first so disheartened Clement was entirely gone, and the last September lights and shades showed themselves on tower and pinnacle, and gleamed on stained glass as somehow sunshine does seem to fall on what is loved and prized, as if inanimate things responded to affection.