taken place in the apartment, that he
hardly heard the Lord Keeper address him. A repetition of the offer of
refreshment, with the addition, that the family meal would be presently
ready, compelled his attention, and reminded him that he acted a weak,
perhaps even a ridiculous, part in suffering himself to be overcome
by the circumstances in which he found himself. He compelled himself,
therefore, to enter into conversation with Sir William Ashton, with as
much appearance of indifference as he could well command.

"You will not be surprised, Sir William, that I am interested in the
changes you have made for the better in this apartment. In my father's
time, after our misfortunes compelled him to live in retirement, it was
little used, except by me as a play-room, when the weather would not
permit me to go abroad. In that recess was my little workshop, where I
treasured the few carpenters' tools which old Caleb procured for me,
and taught me how to use; there, in yonder corner, under that handsome
silver sconce, I kept my fishing-rods and hunting poles, bows and
arrows."

"I have a young birkie," said the Lord Keeper, willing to change the
tone of the conversation, "of much the same turn. He is never happy save
when he is in the field. I wonder he is not here. Here, Lockhard; send
William Shaw for Mr. Henry. I suppose he is, as usual, tied to Lucy's
apron-string; that foolish girl, Master, draws the whole family after
her at her pleasure."

Even this allusion to his daughter, though artfully thrown out, did not
recall Ravenswood from his own topic. "We were obliged to leave," he
said, "some armour and portraits in this apartment; may I ask where they
have been removed to?"

"Why," answered the Keeper, with some hesitation, "the room was fitted
up in our absence, and cedant arma togae is the maxim of lawyers, you
know: I am afraid it has been here somewhat too literally complied with.
I hope--I believe they are safe, I am sure I gave orders; may I hope
that when they are recovered, and put in proper order, you will do
me the honour to accept them at my hand, as an atonement for their
accidental derangement?"

The Master of Ravenswood bowed stiffly, and, with folded arms, again
resumed his survey of the room.

Henry, a spoilt boy of fifteen, burst into the room, and ran up to
his father. "Think of Lucy, papa; she has come home so cross and so
fractious, that she will not go down to the stable to see my new pony,
t