approved itself
to his mind, and he showed all the interest which was usually stifled,
by such subjects being forced on him. He was distressed at detaining
his father when his presence might be essential to the success of his
party, and the Earl could not bear to leave him while still confined to
his bed. The little scene, so calm, and apparently so cold, seemed to
cement the attachment of father and son, by convincing Louis of the
full extent of his father's love; and his enthusiasm began to invest
the Earl's grey head with a perfect halo of wisdom slighted and
affection injured; and the tenor of his thread of life shone out bright
and silvery before him, spun out of projects of devoting heart and soul
to his father's happiness, and meriting his fondness.

The grave Earl was looking through a magnifying-glass no less powerful.
He had not been so happy since his marriage; the consciousness of his
own cold manner made him grateful for any demonstration from his son,
and the many little graces of look and manner which Louis had inherited
from his mother added to the charm. The sense of previous injustice
enhanced all his good qualities, and it was easy to believe him
perfect, while nothing was required of him but to lie still. Day and
night did Lord Ormersfield wait upon him, grudging every moment spent
away from him, and trying to forestall each wish, till he became almost
afraid to express a desire, on account of the trouble it would cause.
Mary found the Earl one day wandering among the vines in the old
hothouse, in search of a flower, when, to her amusement, he selected a
stiff pert double hyacinth, the special aversion of his son, who
nevertheless received it most graciously, and would fain have concealed
the headache caused by the scent, until Mrs. Frost privately abstracted
it. Another day, he went, unasked, to hasten the birdstuffer in
finishing the rose-coloured pastor; and when it came, himself brought
it up-stairs, unpacked it, and set it up where Louis could best admire
its black nodding crest and pink wings; unaware that to his son it
seemed a memento of his own misdeeds--a perpetual lesson against
wayward carelessness.

'It is like a new love,' said Mrs. Ponsonby; 'but oh! how much depends
upon Louis after his recovery!'

'You don't mistrust his goodness now, mamma!'

'I could not bear to do so. I believe I was thinking of his father
more than of himself. After having been so much struck by his
re