er, ma'am.'

'Spared? I think you have come out in a new capacity.'

John never went up his aunt without expecting to undergo a penance.

'I was sorry no one else could be with Arthur, but being there, I could
not leave him.'

'And your mother tells me you are going back again.'

'Yes, to stand godfather.'

'To the son and heir, as they called him in the paper. I gave
Arthur credit for better taste; I suppose it was done by some of her
connections?'

'I was that connection,' said John.

'Oh! I suppose you know what expectations you will raise?'

John making no answer, she grew more angry. 'This one, at least, is
never likely to be heir, from what I hear; it is only surprising that it
is still alive.'

How Theodora hung upon the answer, her very throat aching with anxiety,
but hardening her face because John looked towards her.

'We were very much afraid for him at first,' he said, 'but they now
think there is no reason he should not do well. He began to improve from
the time she could attend to him.'

A deep sigh from his mother startled John, and recalled the grief of his
childhood--the loss of two young sisters who had died during her absence
on the continent. He crossed over and stood near her, between her and
his aunt, who, in agitated haste to change the conversation, called out
to ask her about some club-book. For once she did not attend; and while
Theodora came forward and answered Mrs. Nesbit, she tremulously asked
John if he had seen the child.

'Only once, before he was an hour old. He was asleep when I came away;
and, as Arthur says, it is a serious thing to disturb him, he cries so
much.'

'A little low melancholy wailing,' she said, with a half sob. But Mrs.
Nesbit would not leave her at peace any longer, and her voice came
beyond the screen of John's figure:--

'Lady Martindale, my dear, have you done with those books! They ought to
be returned.'

'Which, dear aunt?' And Lady Martindale started up as if she had been
caught off duty, and, with a manifest effort, brought her wandering
thoughts back again, to say which were read and which were unread.

John did not venture to revert to a subject that affected his mother
so strongly; but he made another attempt upon his sister, when he could
speak to her apart. 'Arthur has been wondering not to hear from you.'

'Every one has been writing,' she answered, coldly.

'He wants some relief from his constant attendance,' continued John;
'I w