“Here, Rose, if you please,” said Ermine, clearing the space of table before her.

“Why, Aunt Ermine, I did not know you could make tea!”

“There are such things as extraordinary occasions, Rose.  Now, good night, my sweet one.”

“Good night, my Lady Discretion.  We will make up for it one of these days.  Don’t stay away, pray, Ailie,” as Alison was following the child.  “I have nothing to say till you come back.”

“I know it is good news,” said Ermine; “but it has cost you something, Colin.”

Instead of answering, he received his cup from her, filled up her tea-pot, and said—­

“How long is it since you poured out tea for me, Ermine?”

“Thirteen years next June, when you and Harry used to come in from the cricket field, so late and hot that you were ashamed to present yourself in civilized society at the Great House.”

“As if nobody from the Parsonage ever came down to look on at the cricket.”

“Yes; being summoned by all the boys to see that nothing would teach a Scotchman cricket.”

“Ah! you have got the last word, for here comes Ailie.”

“Of course,” said Alison, coming in; “Ermine has had the pith of the story, so I had better ask at once what it is.”

“That the Beauchamp Eleven beat Her Majesty’s —­th Foot on Midsummer Day, 1846, is the pith of what I have as yet heard,” said Ermine.

“And that Beauchamp ladies are every whit as full of mischief as they used to be in those days, is the sum of what I have told,” added Colin.

“Yes,” said Ermine, “he has most loyally kept his word of reserving all for you.  He has not even said whether Mauleverer is taken.”

“My story is grave and sad enough,” said Colin, laying aside all his playfulness, and a serious expression coming over his features; but, at the same time, the landlady’s sandy cat, which, like all other animals, was very fond of him, and had established herself on his knee as soon as Rose had left it vacant, was receiving a certain firm, hard, caressing stroking, which resulted in vehement purrs on her part, and was evidently an outlet of suppressed exaltation.

“Is he the same?” asked Alison.

“All in due time; unless, like Miss Rachel, you wish to tell me my story yourselves.  By-the-bye, how is that poor girl to-day?”

“Thoroughly knocked down.  There is a sort of feverish lassitude about her that makes them very anxious.  They were hoping to persuade her to see Mr. Frampton when Lady Temple heard last.”

“Poor thing! it has been a sad affair for her.  Well, I told you I should go over this morning and see Mr. Grey, and judge if anything could be done.  I got to the Abbey at about eleven o’clock, and found the policeman had just come back after serving the summons, with the news that Mauleverer was gone.”

“Gone!”