‘I like to hear the old name, Louis!’

‘I can’t help it,’ said Mrs. Frost.  ’He must be his old aunt Kitty’s Louis le Debonnaire!  Don’t you, remember your calling him so when he was a baby?’

’Oh yes, it has exactly recalled to me the sort of gracious look that he used to have—­half sly, half sweet-and so very pretty!’

’It suits him as well now.  He is the kind of being who must have a pet name;’ and Mrs. Frost, hoping he might be already arrived, could hardly slacken her eager step so as to keep pace with her niece’s feeble movements.  She was disappointed; the carriage had returned without Lord Fitzjocelyn.  His hat and luggage were come, but he himself was missing.  Mrs. Frost was very uneasy, but his father silenced conjectures by saying, that it was his usual way, and he would make his appearance before the evening.  He would not send to meet another train, saying, that the penalty of irregularity must be borne, and the horses should not suffer for such freaks; and he would fain have been utterly indifferent, but he was evidently listening to every sound, and betrayed his anxiety by the decision with which he checked all expression of his aunt’s fears.

There was no arrival all that evening, no explanation in the morning; and Betty Gervas, whom Mary went to visit in the course of the day, began to wonder whether the young Lord could be gone for a soldier—­ the usual fate of all missing village lads.

Mary was on her way home, through the park, along a path skirting the top of a wooded ravine, a dashing rivulet making a pleasant murmur among the rocks below, and glancing here and there through the brushwood that clothed the precipitous banks, when, with a sudden rustling and crackling, a man leaped upon the path with a stone in each hand.

Mary started, but she did not lose her presence of mind, and her next glance showed her that the apparition was not alarming, and was nearly as much amazed as herself.  It was a tall slight young man, in a suit of shepherd’s plaid, with a fair face and graceful agile form, recalling the word debonnaire as she had yesterday heard it applied.  In instant conviction that this was the truant, she put out her hand by the same impulse that lighted his features with a smile of welcome, and the years of separation seemed annihilated as he exclaimed, ‘My cousin Mary!’ and grasped her hand, adding, ’I hope I did not frighten you—­’

‘Oh no; but where did you come from?’

‘Up a hill perpendicular, like Hotspur,’ he replied, in soft low quiet tones, which were a strange contrast to the words.  ’No, see here,’ and parting the bushes he showed some rude steps, half nature, half art, leading between the ferns and mountain-ash, and looking very inviting.

‘How delightful!’ cried Mary.

‘I am glad you appreciate it,’ he exclaimed; ’I will finish it off now, and put a rail.  I did not care to go on when I had lost the poor fellow who helped me, but it saves a world of distance.’