t her younger son the favourite squire of Mr Philip Sidney, an honour
coveted by many, and had he not acquired the air and bearing of the
gentlemen about the Court of the Maiden Queen, and was he not, moreover,
educated in book learning as befitted his position. George, if more homely
in his person and manner, was known in the whole district as a man of
honour, and celebrated for his breed of horses, and for the excellence of
his farm produce.

He superintended everything connected with the small estate, and supplied
the neighbouring gentry with horses, when, perhaps for some hastily formed
expedition, they were suddenly required.

Both brothers were respected in the neighbourhood, and Mrs Ratcliffe had
indeed cause to be satisfied with the sons who had so well taken up the
place their father had left vacant, by a sudden death in the prime of his
manhood.

George Ratcliffe found his mother seated at the head of the long table,
where the men and maidens employed on the farm were gathered at the lower
end.

All rose when George entered, and he said, addressing his mother, as he
seated himself near her,--

'I am later than I thought. I crave pardon, good mother.'

'Granted, my son,' was the reply, with an inclination of the head, which
was, to say the least of it, very stately.

Mrs Ratcliffe stood always upon her dignity before her household, and never
forgot herself, or allowed others to forget, that she was the daughter of a
Knight of the Shire, and that her own family was connected with some of the
leading people at Court. Distantly connected, but still the fact remained,
and Mrs Ratcliffe made the most of it.

When the horn-handled knife had been struck thrice on the board by the
bailiff, who sat at the lower end, the large party rose. George rose also,
and said a short grace. Then the hall was deserted, the servants waiting
till Madam retired to her room, before they cleared away the dishes.

George made a hasty meal, and then, giving his hand to his mother, he led
her through a door at the upper end of the hall to her own parlour.

The spring twilight was deepening, and the figures of both mother and son
were but dimly visible.

Perhaps George was not sorry that there was but little light for his mother
to discover the blush which rose to his honest face, as he said,--

I saw Mistress Lucy Forrester an hour agone, and I bid her to sup with us
on the morrow. I gained your consent to do so,' he added hurr