wth of narrow, conceited
new tenements. The shouting crowd had, to Fitzjocelyn's eyes, more the
aspect of a rabble than of a genuine rejoicing peasantry. What men
there were looked beer-attracted rather than reputable, and the main
body were whooping boys, women, nurse-girls, and babies. The suspicion
crossed him that it was a new generation, without memories of forty
years since, wondering rather than welcoming, in spite of arches,
bells, and shouts.

After another half-mile, a gate swung wide beneath another arch, all
over C. D., the F. studiously omitted; and the carriage wheeled in amid
a shower of tight little nosegays from a squadron of school-children.
They drove up the long approach, through fir plantations, which drew
from Mrs. Frost a cry of friendly recognition--for her husband had
planted them; but they had not taken kindly to the soil, and fifty
years had produced but a starveling growth. Beyond lay an expanse of
parched brown turf, here and there an enclosure of unprosperous trees,
and full in front stood the wide space of stuccoed wall, with a great
Gothic window full in the midst, and battlements in the castellated
style of the early years of the nineteenth century.

No one spoke. After the first glance, Mrs. Frost shut her eyes to
restrain the hot tears that arose at the thought of the wintry morning,
when ice-drops hung hoary on the fir-trees, as she had driven away from
the portal, whence music was now pealing forth a greeting, and where
Oliver was standing on the very spot where, with clenched hand, he had
vowed that all should be restored.

Alas! how much was in his power to restore?

Gaily-dressed people surrounded the entrance, and, amid triumphant
strains from the band, the carriage stopped, and Oliver held out his
hand, saying, 'Welcome home, mother!'

She leant forward, kissed his brow, and suffered him to lead her up the
steps to the hall-door, Lord Ormersfield conducting Clara. At the door
Mrs. Frost paused, to turn, curtsey, and sign her thanks to the throng
who had followed. Her noble aspect and demeanour, so full of dignity
and feeling, obtained a fresh and more genuine acclamation; but
throughout there was a strange sense of unreality; she seemed like one
performing a part to gratify her son. Clara asked her cousin if it
were not like acting a play; and it was plain to him that the
spectators beheld it with more curiosity than sympathy.

They were a new race. Property had