ey are not mine!"

"I have been to bid Gratian good-bye, and thanked her for her kindness;
we are a large party."

"Oh! so much the better," said Melville, good-temperedly; "we are very
glad to have you. What a regular family coach! Where did that come
from?"

"From the 'Swan.' Ralph ordered it yesterday."

At last they were all packed in.

Joyce was the last, and she was just about to step into the carriage
when Mr. Paget came riding up.

"Oh! you are off, Mrs. Arundel. I just called to tell you that there is
news of disturbances in Bristol. A great mob collected in Queen's Square
last night, and political feeling is exciting the people to madness. I
suppose Arundel will ride out to meet you?"

"He told me to start early, that we might get through Bristol before the
afternoon."

"Ah! Well, I daresay it will be all right. Upon my word, what a pretty
party you are! A rose and her rosebuds--eh! Mrs. Falconer? Where is
Ralph?"

"Gone early to Bridgwater; there is a cattle sale to-day, and he and Mr.
Watson went off at six o'clock."

"Ralph does not let the grass grow under his feet,--eh! Falconer? It is
the early bird that finds the worm."

Melville smiled. The gorgeous colours of his dressing gown and fez came
out in grand relief against the old porch, and Mr. Paget thought to
himself, how odd it was that Mr. Falconer's son should be so entirely
unlike either father or mother. He had dismounted; while old Thomas held
the horse, he had helped Joyce into the carriage, and patted the rounded
cheeks of the baby, whom her mother now took from her grandmother, and
settled comfortably on her knee, while he called out to Falcon, who was
in the dickey with Susan and the luggage, not to put out his eyes with a
long cane he was brandishing, kicking his feet vigorously all the time,
and shouting "Gee up!" at the pitch of his young lungs. The two little
rosebuds of girls sat demure and quiet on the back seat with their uncle
Piers; and then, with a final "Good-bye" and waving his hands, the
scarlet-coated post-boy cracked his whip, and Joyce and her children
were fairly off for home; for, sweet as the old home was, and full of
tender memories, the large city house in Great George Street was dearer
still.

[Illustration: Queen's Square, Bristol.]

Never had a cloud of mistrust or doubt come between Gilbert and his
wife. They were subject, as we all are, to the little trials and
annoyances of life, but these were all,