tion, but Arthur
would not permit her, and listened with his eyes filling with tears.

'What have you done to that boy?' he murmured.

'It is his own loving self,' said Violet.

Arthur pressed her hand to his lips. 'My poor children! If papa ever
were to get well--'

And Violet regretted that he had heard, for his emotion threw him back
for the rest of the evening.

CHAPTER 11

Then weep not o'er the hour of pain,
As those who lose their all;
Gather the fragments that remain,
They'll prove nor few nor small.

--M. L. DUNCAN

In the meantime Theodora and her father had been brought into contact
with visitors from the external world. One morning James brought in
a card and message of inquiry from Lord St. Erme, and Lord Martindale
desired that he should be admitted. Theodora had just time to think how
ridiculous it was of her to consider how she should appear to another
old lover, before he came in, colouring deeply, and bending his head
low, not prepared to shake hands; but when hers was held out, taking it
with an eager yet bashful promptitude.

After a cordial greeting between him and her father, it was explained
that he had not entirely recovered what he called his accident, and had
come to London for advice; he had brought a parcel from Wrangerton for
Mrs. Martindale, and had promised to carry the Moss family the latest
news of the Colonel. While this was passing, and Lord Martindale was
talking about Arthur, Theodora had time to observe him. The foreign
dress and arrangement of hair were entirely done away with, and
he looked like an Englishman, or rather an English boy, for the
youthfulness of feature and figure was the same; the only difference was
that there was a greater briskness of eye, and firmness of mouth, and
that now that the blush on entering had faded, his complexion showed the
traces of recent illness, and his cheeks and hands were very thin. When
Theodora thought of the heroism he had shown, of her own usage of him,
and of his remembrance of her in the midst of his worst danger, she
could not see him without more emotion than she desired. He was like a
witness against her, and his consciousness WOULD infect her! She longed
for some of the cool manner that had come so readily with Percy, and
with some difficulty brought out a composed inquiry for Lady Lucy; but
he disconcerted her again by the rapid eager way in which he turned
round at her voice.

'Luc