'No, I was too fond of both of them for that. And then my dear mother was all love, all tenderness. I could afford to share her affection with my adopted brother. And now tell me something about your own life.' 'There is so little to tell,' answered the girl, drearily. 'Ever since I can remember we have lived the same kind of life—sometimes in one town, sometimes in another. When father could afford the money he used to send me to a day school, so I've been a little educated somehow, only I dare say I'm very ignorant, because my education used to stop sometimes, and by the time it began again I had forgotten a good deal.' 'Poor child,' murmured James, compassionately. 'Is your mother still living?' 'She died seven years ago. She had had so much trouble, it wore her out at last.' And Justina paid her dead mother the tribute of a hidden tear. 'I say, Jim, do you know that it is half-past two o'clock, and that Mr. Elgood is waiting for his daughter?' asked the voice of common sense in the tones of Maurice Clissold. The two children started up from the bench by the willow, scared by the sudden question. There stood Mr. Clissold, tall and straight, and severe-looking. 'I heard the cathedral clock a few minutes ago, and I am quite aware of the time. If Mr. Elgood wants his daughter he can come for her himself,' replied James. Mr. Penwyn was resolved to make a stand against his mentor, and he felt that now was the time for action. Mr. Elgood and Mr. Dempson came strolling out into the garden, cigars in their mouths. Penwyn's choicest brand had been largely sacrificed at the altar of hospitality. 'Judy, have you forgotten the time?' asked the heavy father, with accents that had a _legato_ sound—one syllable gliding gently into another,—a tone that was all sweetness and affection, though indistinct. 'Yes, father,' answered the girl, innocently. 'It's so beautiful out here.' 'Beautiful,' echoed the father, thickly. '"Look how the floor of heaven is thick inlaid with—what's its names—of bright gold." Come, Jessica—Judy—put on your bonnet and shawl. Mrs. Dempson has been fast asleep for the last half-hour. "But look! The morn, in russet mantle clad, walks o'er the dew of yon high eastern hill," which reminds me that we have nearly a mile to walk before we get home.' 'I'll go with you,' said James. 'I want to arrange about to-morrow. We must make up a jolly party for the races. I'll get a roomy carriage that will hold all of us.' 'I haven't seen a race in anything like comfort for the last fifteen years,' responded Mr. Elgood. 'We'll make a day of it. Clissold and I will come to the theatre in the evening.' 'Make your own engagements if you please, James, and allow me to make mine,' said Mr. Clissold. 'I shall not go to the races to-morrow—or if I do, it will be by myself, and on foot; and I shall not go to the theatre in the evening.' 'Please yourself,' answered James, offended.