This party had within the last half hour been somewhat thinned; the three younger girls had gone to bed, the Rector of Beechcroft, Mr. Robert Devereux, had been called home to attend some parish business, and there remained Emily and Lilias—­tall graceful girls, with soft hazel eyes, clear dark complexions, and a quantity of long brown curls.  The latter was busily completing a guard for the watch, which Mr. Hawkesworth had presented to Reginald, a fine handsome boy of eleven, who, with his elbows on the table, sat contemplating her progress, and sometimes teasing his brother Maurice, who was earnestly engaged in constructing a model with some cards, which he had pilfered from the heap before Emily.  She was putting her sister’s wedding cards into their shining envelopes, and directing them in readiness for the post the next morning, while they were sealed by a youth of the same age as Claude, a small slim figure, with light complexion and hair, and dark gray eyes full of brightness and vivacity.

He was standing, so as to be more on a level with the high candle, and as Emily’s writing was not quite so rapid as his sealing, he amused himself in the intervals with burning his own fingers, by twisting the wax into odd shapes.

‘Why do you not seal up his eyes?’ inquired Reginald, with an arch glance towards his brother on the sofa.

‘Do it yourself, you rogue,’ was the answer, at the same time approaching with the hot sealing-wax in his hand—­a demonstration which occasioned Claude to open his eyes very wide, without giving himself any further trouble about the matter.

‘Eh?’ said he, ’now they try to look innocent, as if no one could hear them plotting mischief.’

’Them! it was not!—­Redgie there—­young ladies—­I appeal—­was not I as innocent?’—­was the very rapid, incoherent, and indistinct answer.

‘After so lucid and connected a justification, no more can be said,’ replied Claude, in a kind of ‘leave me, leave me to repose’ tone, which occasioned Lilias to say, ‘I am afraid you are very tired.’

‘Tired! what has he done to tire him?’

‘I am sure a wedding is a terrible wear of spirits!’ said Emily—­ ‘such excitement.’

’Well—­when I give a spectacle to the family next year, I mean to tire you to some purpose.’

‘Eh?’ said Mr. Mohun, looking up, ’is Rotherwood’s wedding to be the next?’

‘You ought to understand, uncle,’ said Lord Rotherwood, making two stops towards him, and speaking a little more clearly, ’I thought you longed to get rid of your nephew and his concerns.’

‘You idle boy!’ returned Mr. Mohun, ’you do not mean to have the impertinence to come of age next year.’

‘As much as having been born on the 30th of July, 1825, can make me.’

‘But what good will your coming of age do us?’ said Lilias, ’you will be in London or Brighton, or some such stupid place.’

‘Do not be senseless, Lily,’ returned her cousin.  ’Devereux Castle is to be in splendour—­Hetherington in amazement—­the county’s hair shall stand on end—­illuminations, bonfires, feasts, balls, colours flying, bands playing, tenants dining, fireworks—­’