with her bright eyes, thought she had perhaps judged too
hardly when she saw the father's approval, and that the mother and
sister only mourned at the disappointment at not seeing the beloved
one.

The Archfields would not hear of letting any of the party go on to
Portchester that evening. Dr. Woodford, who had ridden over for
consultation with Sir Philip, must remain, he would have plenty of
time for his niece by and by, and she and Miss Darpent must tell
them all about the journey, and about Charles; and Anne must tell
them hundreds of things about herself that they scarcely knew, for
not one letter from St. Germain had ever reached her uncle.

How natural it all looked! the parlour just as when she saw it last,
and the hall, with the long table being laid for supper, and the hot
sun streaming in through the heavy casements. She could have
fancied it yesterday that she had left it, save for the plump rosy
little yearling with flaxen curls peeping out under his round white
cap, who had let her hold him in her arms and fondle him all through
that reading of his father's letter. Charles's child! He was her
prince indeed now.

He was taken from her and delivered over to Lady Archfield to be
caressed and pitied because his father would not come home 'to see
his grand-dame's own beauty,' while Lucy took the guests upstairs to
prepare for supper, Naomi and her maid being bestowed in the best
guest-chamber, and Lucy taking her friend to her own, the scene of
many a confabulation of old.

"Oh, how I love it!" cried Anne, as the door opened on the well-
known little wainscotted abode. "The very same beau-pot. One would
think they were the same clove gillyflowers as when I went away."

"O Anne, dear, and you are just the same after all your kings and
queens, and all you have gone through;" and the two friends were
locked in another embrace.

"Kings and queens indeed! None of them all are worth my Lucy."

"And now, tell me all; tell me all, Nancy, and first of all about my
brother. How does he look, and is he well?"

"He looks! O Lucy, he is grown such a noble cavalier; most like the
picture of that uncle of yours who was killed, and that Sir Philip
always grieves for."

"My father always hoped Charley would be like him," said Lucy. "You
must tell him that. But I fear he may be grave and sad."

"Graver, but not sad now."

"And you have seen him and talked to him, Anne? Did you know he was
going on this