Sir Philip followed his host into the drawing-room; and, going up to a sofa, the father said, in a very different voice to that in which he had spoken to his other children, "Cuthbert, my boy, this is Sir Philip Dennistoun."

A pair of dark earnest eyes were raised to Sir Philip's face, and a little voice, with the pathetic ring in it which is only heard when the speaker suffers, and has suffered from infancy, said, with a scarcely perceptible nod, "I know, father. Aunt Irene said he was come." And then Cuthbert held out a small, thin hand to Philip, saying, "How do you do?"

Philip looked down upon the child, as he lay upon his small invalid couch, and thought he had never seen a face which interested him more. He was always kind to children when they came in his way, which was not often ; but he never thought much about them, except that they were small and weak, and therefore must claim from him protection if needed, and chivalrous consideration always.

"And who is Aunt Irene?" he asked, as Cuthbert's earnest eyes were still fixed upon him; "who is Aunt Irene, and what does she know about me?"

"Not much," was the answer; "only father told us all, Sir Philip was coming to Rockdeane; and we wondered, mother and I, what you were like; and Aunt Irene met you yesterday in the carriage with papa; and she said "

"Hush, hush, Cuthbert," said his father. And then he turned to Philip, and added, "You must pardon this little man's freedom; he does not know what shyness means; and perhaps we encourage him to talk too much. As he is always lying there, we amuse him in every possible way."

A faint colour came into Cuthbert's pale face as he

caught what his father was saying, and his eyes were directed anxiously to the door.

"Ah! here are my wife and sister," said Mr. Williamson. "Sir Philip Dennistoun, Mary."

Mrs. Williamson advanced to shake hands warmly with her guest.

"I don't like her so well as her husband," was Sir Philip's first thought; and the second, "How like the lame child is to the sister."

"Irene, I must introduce you to Sir Philip," Mr. Williamson continued. "He is come to join us at dinner, Mary, you have kept us waiting some time."

"I am really very sorry," said Mrs. Williamson, a pretty, fair woman, who was dressed fashionably, and had a touch of empressement in her manner, to Sir Philip, which had caused the comparison between her and her husband to be unfavourable to her. "Really, Forster, if you had told me Sir Philip would take luncheon with us to-day I should not have stayed to the full service at the Cathedral. You must forgive me, Sir Philip; I had no idea we were likely to have the pleasure of seeing you here."

All this time Irene-who was kneeling by Cuthbert's little sofa, the child talking to her eagerly in a low voice -had not spoken; but when Mrs. Williamson had said she should not have stayed to the service at church if she had known who their guest would be, she had looked at her sister with an expression which could not be mistaken -it was one of grave rebuke.

"Come, Irene," Mrs. Williamson said, in a tone which implied that she had understood the glance; "do not waste any more time, but come at once." And she rustled out of the room, half closing the door, on

the other side of which was presently heard a scarcely repressed tumult.

"I will. What a shame!" and then whispered maternal entreaties and commands. It ended in Hilda rushing in, and throwing herself upon her father.

"Papa, mayn't I come down to Sunday dinner? Mamma says I mustn't, because he is here."

Irene, who had very little change to make in her dress, and had laid aside her bonnet, drew the child away from her father, and said, "Hush, Hilda! You must do what mamma tells you."

"Let me plead for her," said Philip, thinking that the voice was the sweetest and most musical he had ever heard. "Let me plead, I should be sorry indeed to be the cause of Hilda's banishment. Shall we go down stairs, Hilda, and ask your mother to let us eat our Sunday dinner together."

"May I, Auntie?" the child asked, looking wistfully at Irene. But, without waiting for the answer, Sir Philip raised little Hilda in his arms; and, discovering by a smile on her father's face that he was by no means unwilling that his little girl should be gratified, he entered the dining-room with Hilda's face buried on his shoulder, and her golden hair falling over it like a

shower.

"Hilda!" was her mother's greeting, "I am shocked. Irene, how could you allow it? Now, Sir Philip, will you sit next me?" And Mrs. Williamson surveyed the table, to which she had given several finishing touches, with some anxiety, but more satisfaction.

Hilda was deposited in her high chair, and Irene sat between her and Randal. Philip kept up a pleasant conversation with Mr. and Mrs. Williamson, in which he

wished Irene would join, but she devoted herself apparently to the two children, and did not speak.

Before dinner was really over, Miss Clifford looked at her sister, and quietly left the room.

"May I go with auntie to Hildyard's Almshouse to-day, mamma?"

"No, Randal, certainly not, you know you have a cold," said his mother. Then she continued, to Sir Philip, "My sister is a great friend of the old warden of Hildyard's Almshouses, and she looks after the poor old people, reads to them when they are ill, and all that."

Some

“Yes, Irene is a curate to half the clergymen in Rodham," said Mr. Williamson; "she is here, there, and everywhere amongst the poor. By-the-bye, Sir Philip, Hildyard's Chapel belongs to the Dennistouns-it is there that Sir Jasper is to be buried to-morrow. of the Dennistouns married into the Hildyard family two or three hundred years ago, and it fell into their hands, with the charity which provides thirty-five old people with house and home under the will of a Dame Janet Hildyard, who died in 1537. There is a chapel, a warden, and a warden's house, all in the most antique style. The chapel is very old, and needs restoration; but there are some fine windows in it, and it is interesting in its way."

"I feel as if I were turning over the pages of a book," said Philip; "every minute I hear of something new in which I am concerned."

"Yes," said Mrs. Williamson, "it must be so odd to you, and yet very pleasant too," she added, with a laugh. Every one in Rodham will be paying court to you, and will be anxious to know you-how different to people like us; when we came here, two years ago, we were

nobodies; and the Cathedral people are so stiff and exclusive."

"Nonsense, Mary," said her husband; "I cannot endure social fictions like that. It is a free country, and we may all choose our own friends, and we are none of us bound to visit this person or the other, if we don't wish to do Randal, if you teaze Hilda again, I will send you out of the room."

SO.

“Ah! it is all very well," said his wife, not heeding the paternal rebuke, which finished off her husband's sentence; "but Sir Philip will agree with me before he has lived a year at Rockdeane, that Rodham society is very stupid, and that people here give themselves the most absurd airs—the Tillets for instance-Forster, and the Hiltons."

Sir Philip saw a frown on Mr. Williamson's face, and hastened to say, "If this household is a specimen of Rodham society, Mrs. Williamson, I am quite content. Now I think I must turn my steps towards Rockdeane again, where I shall hope often to see you, and introduce you to my mother and sister."

"Oh! won't you come into the drawing-room, Sir Philip? I am not going to church again."

"No, thanks," Philip said; and then he took a courteous leave of Mrs. Williamson, his host accompanying him to the door. When it had closed upon him, Mrs. Williamson was loud in his praise.

"What an acquisition he will be, Forster. I wonder if his mother and sister, of whom he talks, will be like him."

"Most probably, very different; women's heads are sooner turned with an accession of fortune than men's. I would not set my hopes on Mrs. and Miss Dennistoun,