perhaps, he was pleased that there should be an intimacy
between some member, at least, of his family, and Sir Marmaduke's.
There were so few houses at which he or his were welcome, it was
pleasant to him to be able to refer to the close friendship of his
daughter with their cousins at Lynnwood. Beyond this, Celia, who
often, as she sat alone, turned the matter over in her mind, could
see no reason he could have for permitting the intimacy. That he
would permit it without some reason was, as her experience had
taught her, out of the question.

Ciceley never troubled her head about the matter. Her visits to
Lynnwood were very pleasant to her. She was two years younger than
Charlie Carstairs; and although, when he had once brought her to
the house, he considered that his duties were over until the hour
arrived for her return, he was sometimes ready to play with her,
escort her round the garden, or climb the trees for fruit or birds'
eggs for her.

Such little courtesies she never received from Alured, who was four
years her senior, and who never interested himself in the slightest
degree in her. He was now past eighteen, and was beginning to
regard himself as a man, and had, to Ciceley's satisfaction, gone a
few weeks before, to London, to stay with an uncle who had a place
at court, and was said to be much in the confidence of some of the
Whig lords.

Sir Marmaduke was, about this time, more convinced than ever that,
ere long, the heir of the Stuarts would come over from France, with
men, arms, and money, and would rally round him the Jacobites of
England and Scotland. Charlie saw but little of him, for he was
frequently absent, from early morning until late at night, riding
to visit friends in Westmoreland and Yorkshire, sometimes being
away two or three days at a time. Of an evening, there were
meetings at Lynnwood, and at these strangers, who arrived after
nightfall, were often present. Charlie was not admitted to any of
these gatherings.

"You will know all about it in time, lad," his father said. "You
are too young to bother your head with politics, and you would lose
patience in a very short time. I do myself, occasionally. Many who
are the foremost in talk, when there is no prospect of doing
anything, draw back when the time approaches for action, and it is
sickening to listen to the timorous objections and paltry arguments
that are brought forward. Here am I, a man of sixty, ready to risk
life and fortune