A biled fowl, and baked bread-and-butter pudding, brought Mrs. Walmers up a little; but Boots could have wished, he must privately own to me, to have seen her more sensible of the woice of love, and less abandoning of herself to currants.  However, Master Harry, he kept up, and his noble heart was as fond as ever.  Mrs. Walmers turned very sleepy about dusk, and began to cry.  Therefore, Mrs. Walmers went off to bed as per yesterday; and Master Harry ditto repeated.

About eleven or twelve at night comes back the Governor in a chaise, along with Mr. Walmers and a elderly lady.  Mr. Walmers looks amused and very serious, both at once, and says to our missis, “We are much indebted to you, ma’am, for your kind care of our little children, which we can never sufficiently acknowledge.  Pray, ma’am, where is my boy?” Our missis says, “Cobbs has the dear child in charge, sir.  Cobbs, show Forty!” Then he says to Cobbs, “Ah, Cobbs, I am glad to see you!  I understood you was here!” And Cobbs says, “Yes, sir.  Your most obedient, sir.”

I may be surprised to hear Boots say it, perhaps; but Boots assures me that his heart beat like a hammer, going up-stairs.  “I beg your pardon, sir,” says he, while unlocking the door; “I hope you are not angry with Master Harry.  For Master Harry is a fine boy, sir, and will do you credit and honour.”  And Boots signifies to me, that, if the fine boy’s father had contradicted him in the daring state of mind in which he then was, he thinks he should have “fetched him a crack,” and taken the consequences.

But Mr. Walmers only says, “No, Cobbs.  No, my good fellow.  Thank you!” And, the door being opened, goes in.

Boots goes in too, holding the light, and he sees Mr. Walmers go up to the bedside, bend gently down, and kiss the little sleeping face.  Then he stands looking at it for a minute, looking wonderfully like it (they do say he ran away with Mrs. Walmers); and then he gently shakes the little shoulder.

“Harry, my dear boy!  Harry!”

Master Harry starts up and looks at him.  Looks at Cobbs too.  Such is the honour of that mite, that he looks at Cobbs, to see whether he has brought him into trouble.

“I am not angry, my child.  I only want you to dress yourself and come home.”

“Yes, pa.”

Master Harry dresses himself quickly.  His breast begins to swell when he has nearly finished, and it swells more and more as he stands, at last, a looking at his father:  his father standing a looking at him, the quiet image of him.

“Please may I”—­the spirit of that little creatur, and the way he kept his rising tears down!—­“please, dear pa—­may I—­kiss Norah before I go?”

“You may, my child.”