fortress where my aunt had secured the windows with feather-beds--'

'You had better make haste and tell, that the true edition may be
preserved,' said Mary, rallying her spirits in her eagerness.

'I have begun to understand why there never yet has been an authentic
account of a great battle,' said Louis. 'Life would make me coincide
with Sir Robert Walpole's judgment on history. All I am clear about
is, that even a Red Republican is less red than he is painted; that
Isabel Conway is fit to visit the sentinels in a beleaguered castle--a
noble being-- But oh, Mary! did I not long sorely after you when it
came to the wounded knight part of the affair! I am more sure of that
than of anything else!'

Mary blushed, but her tender heart was chiefly caring to know how much
he had been hurt, and so the whole story was unfolded by due
questioning; and the Earl had full and secret enjoyment of the signal
defeat of his dear sister-in-law, the one satisfaction on which every
one seemed agreed.

It was a melancholy certainty that Mary must go to Mrs. Frost, but the
Earl deferred the moment by sending the carriage with an entreaty that
she would come herself to fetch her guest. Mary talked of writing a
note; but the autumn sun shone cheerily on the steps, and Louis wiled
her into seating herself on the upper step, while he reclined on the
lower ones, as they had so often been placed when this was his only way
of enjoying the air. The sky was clear, the air had the still calm of
autumn, the evergreens and the yellow-fringed elms did not stir a
leaf--only a large heavy yellow plane leaf now and then detached itself
by its own weight and silently floated downwards. Mary sat, without
wishing to utter a word to disturb the unwonted tranquillity, the rest
so precious after her months of sea-voyage, her journey, her
agitations. But Louis wanted her seal of approval to all his past
doings, and soon began on their inner and deeper story, ending with,
'Tell me whether you think I was right, my own dear governess--'

'Oh no, you must never call me that any more.'

'It is a name belonging to my happiest days.'

'It was only in play. It reverses the order of things. I must look up
to you.'

'If you can!' said Louis, playfully, slipping down to a lower step.

A tear burst out as Mary said, 'Mamma said it must never be that way.'
Then recovering, she added, 'I beg your pardon, Louis; I was treating
it as earnest. I think I am