"Well, Richard—you have seen him?"
"And like him. Do you know he has a great look of poor Nora?—more like her than Jane?"
"Yes; he is handsomer than Jane ever was, but more like your father than any one. John was so comely. You take to the boy then?"
"Ay, that I do. Just tell him in the morning that he is to go with a gentleman who will be his friend, and don't say more. The chaise shall be at the door after breakfast. Let him get into it: I shall wait for him out of the town. What's the room you give him?"
"The room you would not take."
"The room in which Nora slept? Oh, no! I could not have slept a wink there. What a charm there was in that girl!—how we all loved her! But she was too beautiful and good for us—too good to live!"
"None of us are too good," said Mrs. Avenel with great austerity, "and I beg you will not talk in that way. Good-night—I must get your poor father to bed."
When Leonard opened his eyes-the next morning, they rested on the face of Mrs. Avenel, which was bending over his pillow. But it was long before he could recognize that countenance, so changed was its expression—so tender, so motherlike. Nay, the face of his own mother had never seemed to him so soft with a mother's passion.
"Ah!" he murmured, half rising, and flinging his young arms round her neck. Mrs. Avenel, this time, and for the first, taken by surprise, warmly returned the embrace: she clasped him to her breast, she kissed him again and again. At length with a quick start she escaped, and walked up and down the room, pressing her hands tightly together. When she halted her face had recovered its usual severity and cold precision.
"It is time for you to rise, Leonard," said she. "You will leave us to-day. A gentleman has promised to take charge of you, and do for you more than we can. A chaise will be at the door soon—make haste."