Mosquito,' Lord Agincourt; would
you like to hear of how she attacked the forts at the mouth of the--oh,
how shall I attack it?--the Bhageebhahoo? This is a midshipman's letter,
written the same evening of the action."

Though the question was addressed very pointedly, the boy never heard
it, but sat deeply engaged in deciphering a very jagged handwriting in a
letter before him. It was one of those scratchy, unfinished specimens
of penmanship which are amongst the luxuries persons of condition
occasionally indulge in. Seeing his preoccupation, Mrs. Morris did
not repeat her question, but suffered him to pursue his researches
undisturbed. He had just begun his breakfast when the letter arrived,
and now he ceased to eat anything, but seemed entirely engrossed by his
news. At last he arose abruptly, and left the room.

"I hope Agincourt has not got any bad tidings," said Sir William; "he
seems agitated and uneasy."

"I saw his guardian's name--Sommerville--on the envelope," said Mrs.
Morris. "It is, probably, one of those pleasant epistles which wards
receive quarterly to remind them that even minors have miseries."

The meal did not recover its pleasant tone after this little incident,
and soon after they all scattered through the house and the grounds,
Mrs. Morris setting out for her usual woodland walk, which she took each
morning. A half-glance the boy had given her as he quitted the room at
breakfast-time, induced her to believe that he wanted to consult her
about his letter, and so, as she entered the shrubbery, she was not
surprised to find Lord Agincourt there before her.

"I was just wishing it might be your footstep I heard on the gravel,"
said he, joining her. "May I keep you company?"

"To be sure, provided you don't make love to me, which I never permit in
the forenoon."

"Oh, I have other thoughts in my head," said he, sighing drearily; "and
you are the very one to advise me what to do. Not, indeed, that I have
any choice about that, only how to do it, that's the question."

"When one has the road marked out, it's never very hard to decide on the
mode of the journey," said she. "Tell me what your troubles are."

[Illustration: 202]

"Troubles you may well call them," said he, with a deeper sigh. "There,
read that--if you can read it--for the old Earl does not grow more
legible by being older."

"'Crews Court,'" read she, aloud. "Handsome old abbey it must be," added
she, remarking on a little tin