‘And Reginald?’ said Alethea.

’Oh!  Redgie is a noble-looking fellow.  But just eleven, and taller than Jane.  His complexion so fair, yet fresh and boyish, and his eyes that beautiful blue that Ada’s are—­real blue.  Then his hair, in dark brown waves, with a rich auburn shine.  The old knights must have been just like Redgie.  And Claude—­Oh!  Miss Weston, have you ever seen Claude?’

‘No, but I have seen your eldest brother.’

’William?  Why, he has been in Canada these three years.  Where could you have seen him?’

‘At Brighton, about four years ago.’

’Ah! the year before he went.  I remember that his regiment was there.  Well, it is curious that you should know him; and did you ever hear of Harry, the brother that we lost?’

’I remember Captain Mohun’s being called away to Oxford by his illness,’ said Alethea.

’Ah, yes!  William was the only one of us who was with him, even papa was not there.  His illness was so short.’

‘Yes,’ said Alethea, ’I think it was on a Tuesday that Captain Mohun left Brighton, and we saw his death in the paper on Saturday.’

’William only arrived the evening that he died.  Papa was gone to Ireland to see about Cousin Rotherwood’s property.  Robert, not knowing that, wrote to him at Beechcroft; Eleanor forwarded the letter without opening it, and so we knew nothing till Robert came to tell us that all was over.’

‘Without any preparation?’

’With none.  Harry had left home about ten days before, quite well, and looking so handsome.  You know what a fine-looking person William is.  Well, Harry was very like him, only not so tall and strong, with the same clear hazel eyes, and more pink in his cheeks—­fairer altogether.  Then Harry wrote, saying that he had caught one of his bad colds.  We did not think much of it, for he was always having coughs.  We heard no more for a week, and then one morning Eleanor was sent for out of the schoolroom, and there was Robert come to tell us.  Oh! it was such a thunderbolt.  This was what did the mischief.  You know papa and mamma being from home so long, the elder boys had no settled place for the holidays; sometimes they stayed with one friend, sometimes with another, and so no one saw enough of them to find out how delicate poor Harry really was.  I think papa had been anxious the only winter they were at home together, and Harry had been talked to and advised to take care; but in the summer and autumn he was well, and did not think about it.  He went to Oxford by the coach—­it was a bitterly cold frosty day—­there was a poor woman outside, shivering and looking very ill, and Harry changed places with her.  He was horribly chilled, but thinking he had only a common cold, he took no care.  Robert, coming to Oxford about a week after, found him very ill, and wrote to papa and William, but William scarcely came in time.  Harry just knew him, and that was all.  He could not speak, and died that night.  Then William stayed at Oxford to receive papa, and Robert came to tell us.’