ured, "after all it is the boy's happiness that must be
consulted. If he will not be happy in my way, what right have I to say
that he shall not be happy in his?"

Just then Cecilia came softly into the room. She had acquired the
privilege of entering his library at will; sometimes to choose a book of
his recommendation, sometimes to direct and seal his letters,--Sir Peter
was grateful to any one who saved him an extra trouble,--and
sometimes, especially at this hour, to decoy him forth into his wonted
constitutional walk.

He lifted his face at the sound of her approaching tread and her winning
voice, and the face was so sad that the tears rushed to her eyes on
seeing it. She laid her hand on his shoulder, and said pleadingly, "Dear
Sir Peter, what is it,--what is it?"

"Ah--ah, my dear," said Sir Peter, gathering up the scattered sheets of
Kenelm's effusion with hurried, trembling hands. "Don't ask,--don't talk
of it; 'tis but one of the disappointments that all of us must undergo,
when we invest our hopes in the uncertain will of others."

Then, observing that the tears were trickling down the girl's fair, pale
cheeks, he took her hand in both his, kissed her forehead, and said,
whisperingly, "Pretty one, how good you have been to me! Heaven bless
you. What a wife you will be to some man!"

Thus saying, he shambled out of the room through the open casement. She
followed him impulsively, wonderingly; but before she reached his side
he turned round, waved his hand with a gently repelling gesture, and
went his way alone through dense fir-groves which had been planted in
honour of Kenelm's birth.

CHAPTER II.

KENELM arrived at Exmundham just in time to dress for dinner. His
arrival was not unexpected, for the morning after his father had
received his communication, Sir Peter had said to Lady Chillingly--"that
he had heard from Kenelm to the effect that he might be down any day."

"Quite time he should come," said Lady Chillingly. "Have you his letter
about you?"

"No, my dear Caroline. Of course he sends you his kindest love, poor
fellow."

"Why poor fellow? Has he been ill?"

"No; but there seems to be something on his mind. If so we must do what
we can to relieve it. He is the best of sons, Caroline."

"I am sure I have nothing to say against him, except," added her
Ladyship, reflectively, "that I do wish he were a little more like other
young men."

"Hum--like Chillingly Gordon, for instance?"