oasis of
delight, and make it desert all around them. Julius and Sophia belonged
to it. They really enjoyed the idea that they were being badly used.
They talked over the squire's injustice, Mrs. Sandal's indifference to
every one but Harry, and Charlotte's envy, until they had persuaded
themselves that they were the only respectable and intelligent members
of the family. Naturally Sophia's nature deteriorated under this
isolating process. She grew secretive and suspicious. Her love-affairs
assumed a proportion which put her in false relations to all the rest of
the world.

It was unfortunate that they had come to a crisis during Harry's visit,
for of course Harry occupied a large share of every one's interest. The
squire took the opportunity to talk over the affairs of the estate with
him, and this was not a kind of conversation they felt inclined to make
general. It took them long solitary walks to the different "folds," and
several times as far as Kendal together. "Am I one of the family, or am
I not?" Julius would ask Sophia on such occasions; and then the
discussion of this question separated them from it, sometimes for hours
at a time.

Mrs. Sandal hardly perceived the growth of this domestic antagonism.
When Harry was at Seat-Sandal, she lived and moved and had her being in
Harry. His food and drink, and the multitude of his small comforts; his
friends and amusements; the renovation of his linen and hosiery; his
hopes and fears, and his promotion or marriage, were enough to fill the
mother's heart. She was by no means oblivious of Sophia's new interests,
she only thought that they could be put aside until Harry's short visit
was over; and Charlotte's sympathies were also with Harry. "Julius and
Sophia do not want them, mother," she said, "they are sufficient unto
themselves. If I enter a room pre-occupied by them, Sophia sits silent
over her work, with a look of injury on her face; and Julius walks
about, and kicks the stools out of his way, and simply 'looks' me out of
their presence."

After such an expulsion one morning, she put on her bonnet and mantle,
and went into the park. She was hot and trembling with anger, and her
eyes were misty with tears. In the main walk she met Harry. He was
smoking, and pacing slowly up and down under the bare branches of the
oaks. For a moment he also seemed annoyed at her intrusion on his
solitude; but the next one he had tucked her arm through his own, and
was looking wit