t that hour, and the fact struck her
significantly. She knocked at the door, and was told rather irritably to
"Come in."

"Dear me, Sophia! what is the matter? It feels as if there were
something wrong in the house."

"I suppose there is something wrong. Father got a letter from Harry by
the late post, and he left his dinner untouched; and mother is in her
room crying, of course. I do think it is a shame that Harry is allowed
to turn the house upside down whenever he feels like it."

"Perhaps he is in trouble."

"He is always in trouble, for he is always busy making trouble. His very
amusements mean trouble for all who have the misfortune to have any
thing to do with him. Julius told me that no man in the 'Cameronians'
had a worse name than Harry Sandal."

"Julius! The idea of Julius talking badly about our Harry, and to you! I
wonder you listened to him. It was a shabby thing to do; it was that."

"Julius only repeated what he had heard, and he was very sorry to do so.
He felt it to be conscientiously his duty."

"Bah! God save me from such a conscience! If Julius had heard any thing
good of Harry, he would have had no conscientious scruples about
silence; not he! I dare say Julius would be glad if poor Harry was out
of his way."

"Charlotte Sandal, you shall not say such very unladylike, such
unchristianlike, things in my room. It is quite easy to see _whose_
company you have been in."

"I have been with Ducie. Can you find me a sweeter or better soul?"

"Or a handsomer young man than her son?"

"I mean that also, certainly. Handsome, energetic, enterprising, kind,
religious."

"Spare me the balance of your adjectives. We all know that Steve is
square on every side, and straight in every corner. Don't be so earnest;
you fatigue me to-night. I am on the verge of a nervous headache, and I
really think you had better leave me." She turned her chair towards the
fire as she spoke, and hardly palliated this act of dismissal by the
faint "excuse me," which accompanied it. And Charlotte made no remark,
though she left her sister's room, mentally promising herself to keep
away from it in the future.

She went next to the parlor. The squire's chair was empty, and on the
little stand at its side, the "Gentleman's Magazine" lay uncut. His
slippers, usually assumed after dinner, were still warming on the white
sheepskin rug before the fire. But the large, handsome face, that
always made a sunshiny feeling round th