ing-glove and a miniature
upon ivory, Cicely's mother's face, painted at Paris in other days.

One night, while they were sitting all together by the fire, Nick and
Cicely snug in the chimney-seat, Carew spoke up suddenly out of a little
silence which had fallen upon them all. "Nick," said he, quite softly,
with a look on his face as if he were thinking of other things, "I
wonder if thou couldst play?"

"What, sir?" asked Nick; "a game?" and made the bellows whistle in his
mouth.

"Nay, lad; a gittern."

Nick and Cicely looked up, for his manner was very odd.

"Why, sir, I do na know. I could try. I ha' heard one played, and it is
passing sweet." "Ay, Nick, 'tis passing sweet," said Carew,
quickly--and no more; but spoke of France, how the lilies grow in the
ditches there, and the tall trees stand like soldiers by the road that
runs to the land of sunny hills and wine; and of the radiant women
there, with hair like night and eyes like the summer stars. Then all at
once he stopped as if some one had clapped a hand upon his mouth, and
sat and stared into the fire.

But in the morning at breakfast there was a gittern at Nick's place--a
rare old yellow gittern, with silver scrolls about the tail-piece, ivory
pegs, and a head that ended in an angel's face. It was strung with
bright new silver strings, but near the bridge of it there was a little
rut worn into the wood by the tips of the fingers that had rested there
while playing, and the silken shoulder-ribbon was faded and worn.

Nick stopped, then put out both his hands as if to touch it, yet did
not, being half afraid.

"Tut, take it up!" said Carew, sharply, though he had not seemed to
heed. "Take it up--it is for thee."

"For me?" cried Nick--"not for mine own?"

Carew turned and struck the table with his hand, as if suddenly wroth.
"Why should I say it was for thee? if it were not to be thine own?"

"But, Master Carew--" Nick began.

"'Master Carew' fiddlesticks! Hold thy prate. Do I know my own mind, or
do I filter my wits through thee? Did I not say that it is thine? Good,
then--'tis thine, although it were thrice somebody else's; and thrice as
much thy very own through having other owners. Dost hear? Well, then,
enough--we'll have no words about it!"

Rising abruptly as he spoke, he clapped his hat upon his head and left
the room, Nick standing there beside the table, staring after him, with
the gittern in his hands.

CHAPTER XXVI

TO SI