look at him afterwards when his own eyes were gazing upon her.  A something hinting at grief and secret, and filling his mind with alarm undefinable, seemed to speak with that low thrilling voice of hers, and look out of those clear sad eyes.  Her greeting to Esmond was so cold that it almost pained the lad, (who would have liked to fall on his knees, and kiss the skirt of her robe, so fond and ardent was his respect and regard for her,) and he faltered in answering the questions which she, hesitating on her side, began to put to him.  Was he happy at Cambridge?  Did he study too hard?  She hoped not.  He had grown very tall, and looked very well.

“He has got a moustache!” cries out Master Esmond.

“Why does he not wear a peruke like my Lord Mohun?” asked Miss Beatrix.  “My lord says that nobody wears their own hair.”

“I believe you will have to occupy your old chamber,” says my lady.  “I hope the housekeeper has got it ready.”

“Why, mamma, you have been there ten times these three days yourself!” exclaims Frank.

“And she cut some flowers which you planted in my garden—­do you remember, ever so many years ago? when I was quite a little girl,” cries out Miss Beatrix, on tiptoe.  “And mamma put them in your window.”

“I remember when you grew well after you were ill that you used to like roses,” said the lady, blushing like one of them.  They all conducted Harry Esmond to his chamber; the children running before, Harry walking by his mistress hand-in-hand.

The old room had been ornamented and beautified not a little to receive him.  The flowers were in the window in a china vase; and there was a fine new counterpane on the bed, which chatterbox Beatrix said mamma had made too.  A fire was crackling on the hearth, although it was June.  My lady thought the room wanted warming; everything was done to make him happy and welcome:  “And you are not to be a page any longer, but a gentleman and kinsman, and to walk with papa and mamma,” said the children.  And as soon as his dear mistress and children had left him to himself, it was with a heart overflowing with love and gratefulness that he flung himself down on his knees by the side of the little bed, and asked a blessing upon those who were so kind to him.

The children, who are always house tell-tales, soon made him acquainted with the little history of the house and family.  Papa had been to London twice.  Papa often went away now.  Papa had taken Beatrix to Westlands, where she was taller than Sir George Harper’s second daughter, though she was two years older.  Papa had taken Beatrix and Frank both to Bellminster, where Frank had got the better of Lord Bellminster’s son in a boxing-match—­my lord, laughing, told Harry afterwards.  Many gentlemen came to stop with papa, and papa had gotten a new game from London, a French game, called a billiard—­that the French king played it very well:  and the Dowager Lady Castlewood had sent Miss Beatrix a present;