“Little darlings!” said she. “But he has frightened his poor mother, and nearly broken her heart. Oh!” “If you cry any more, mamma--Shut up, I tell you!” _“Must_ I? Oh!” “Yes, or you'll catch pepper.” Then he pulled her along, gabbling all the time. “Those two swells didn't quarrel after all, you see.” “Thank Heaven!” “But they looked at each other like hobelixes, and pulled the kids away like pison. Ha! ha! I say, the young 'uns ain't of the same mind as the old 'uns. I say, though, our Compton is not a bad sort; I'm blowed if he hadn't taken off his tippet to put round his gal. I say, don't you think that little chap has begun rather early? Why, _I_ didn't trouble my head about the gals till I was eleven years old.” Lady Bassett was too much agitated to discuss these delicate little questions just then. She replied as irrelevantly as ever a lady did. “Oh, you good, brave, clever boy!” said she. Then she stopped a moment to kiss him heartily. “I shall never forget this night, dear. I shall always make excuses for you. Oh, shall we never get home?” “We shall be home as soon as they will,” said Reginald. “Come on.” He gabbled to her the whole way; but the reader has probably had enough of his millclack. Lady Bassett reached home, and had just ordered a large fire in Compton's bedroom, when Sir Charles came in, bringing the boy. The lady ran out screaming, and went down on her knees, with her arms out, as only a mother can stretch them to her child. There was not a word of scolding that night. He had made her suffer; but what of that? She had no egotism; she was a true mother. Her boy had been lost, and was found; and she was the happiest soul in creation. But the fathers of these babes in the wood were both intensely mortified, and took measures to keep those little lovers apart in future. Richard Bassett locked up his gate: Sir Charles padlocked his; and they both told their wives they really must be more vigilant. The poor children, being in disgrace, did not venture to remonstrate! But they used often to think of each other, and took a liking to the British Sunday; for then they saw each other in church. By-and-by even that consolation ceased. Ruperta was sent to school, and passed her holidays at the sea-side. To return to Reginald, he was compelled to change his clothes that evening, but was allowed to sit up, and, when the heads of the house were a little calmer, became the hero of the night. Sir Charles, gazing on him with parental pride, said, “Reginald, you have begun a new life to-day, and begun it well. Let us forget the past, and start fresh to-day, with the love and gratitude of both your parents.” The boy hung his head and said nothing in reply. Lady Bassett came to his assistance. “He will; he will. Don't say a word about the past. He is a good, brave, beautiful boy, and I adore him.” “And I like you, mamma,” said Reginald graciously.