“Surely the Evelyns would be glad to have you.”

“No, Jock, that can’t be.  Promise me that you will do nothing to lead to an invitation.  You are to meet some of them, are you not?”

“Yes, on Thursday week, at Roland Hampton’s wedding.  Cecil and I and a whole lot of us go down in the morning to it, and Sydney is to be a bridesmaid.  What are you going to do now, mother?”

“I don’t quite know.  I feel regularly foolish.  I shall have a headache if I don’t keep quiet, but I can’t persuade myself to stay in the house lest that man should come back.”

“What! not with me for garrison?”

“O nonsense, my dear.  You must go and catch up the sportsmen.”

“Not when I can get my Mother Carey all to myself.  You go and lie down in the dressing-room, and I’ll come as soon as I have taken off my boots and ordered some coffee for you.”

He returned with the step of one treading on eggs, expecting to find her half asleep; but her eyes were glittering, and there were red spots on her cheeks, for her nerves were excited, and when he came in she began to talk.  She told him, not of present troubles, but of the letters between his father and grandmother, which, in her busy, restless life, she had never before looked at, but which had come before her in her preparations for vacating Belforest.  Perhaps it was only now that she had grown into appreciation of the relations between that mother and son, as she read the letters, preserved on each side, and revealing the full beauty and greatness of her husband’s nature, his perfect confidence in his mother, and a guiding influence from her, which she herself had never thought of exerting.  Does not many an old correspondence thus put the present generation to shame?

Jock was the first person with whom she had shared these letters, and it was good to watch his face as he read the words of the father whom he remembered chiefly as the best of playfellows.  He was of an age and in a mood to enter into them with all his heart, though he uttered little more than an occasional question, or some murmured remark when anything struck him.  Both he and his mother were so occupied that they never observed that the sky clouded over and rain began to fall, nor did they think of any other object till Bobus opened the door in search of them.

“Halloo, you deserter!”

“Hush!  Mother has a headache.”

“Not now, you have cured it.”

“Well, you’ve missed an encounter with the most impudent rascal I ever came across.”

“You didn’t meet Hermann?”

“Well, perhaps I have found his match; but you shall hear.  Grimes said he heard guns, and we came upon the scoundrel in Lewis Acre, two brace on his shoulder.”

“The vultures are gathering to the prey,” said his mother.

“I’m not arrived at lying still to be devoured!” said Bobus.  “I gave him the benefit of a doubt, and sent Grimes to warn him off; but the fellow sent his card-—_his_ card forsooth, ’Mr. Gilbert Gould, R.N.,’-—and information that he had Miss Menella’s permission.”