After this, breakfast was quickly finished, a carriage ordered, and the young people, full of happiness, made hasty preparations for a delightful ride through wonderful London, of which they had heard so much. On entering the room with her little brother before starting, Clara advanced to Mrs. Franklyn and said,--"Mamma, I did not mean to be rude when I left the breakfast-table this morning, but I am so fond of my little brother Ally, please forgive me." "It is of no consequence, Clara, if you prefer to breakfast in the nursery you can always please yourself." Clara turned away without a reply. She had not lost her power of self-control, yet she had great difficulty in repressing the tears or an angry reply. A feeling of mortification that she had so humbled herself for nothing arose in her heart. The time came when she remembered having done so with thankfulness. What a delightful ride that was. Over London Bridge, with its crowds of vehicles, and its continued stream of passengers. Omnibuses, waggons, carts, carriages, every sort of conveyance delaying their progress through King William Street, Cheapside, Holborn, and Oxford Street, till they reached Hyde Park Corner, and turned up the Edgware Road. Yet the frequent delays had been an advantage to them, especially at the Mansion House, with the Royal Exchange and the Bank in sight. Again before entering Newgate Street, the view of St. Paul's and the Post Office, and afterwards the grim prison itself, from which the street is named. Arthur Franklyn could remember sufficient of London to enable him to point out objects of interest as they drove on, although the Holborn Viaduct and the Thames Embankment were not then in existence. But when they at last approached Kilburn, so many recollections crowded upon him that he became silent, scarcely replying to the eager inquiries of the children till the carriage stopped at the gate of Englefield Grange. "I will go in alone first, Louisa," he said hurriedly. "I must prepare my aged father-in-law for such a large party." He was gone before she could raise an objection, and in a few moments a strange servant opened the door, and, startled by his pale face, showed him into a small reception room, and went to call Mr. Henry. He stood listening to the old familiar sounds; the clock had just struck twelve, and the eager voices in the playground at the back brought to his memory the time when he had been as happy and as eager as those he now listened to, and a little dark-eyed girl would stand watching for him at the garden gate with a flower, or a bon-bon, or a something which she had brought for "dear Arty." So deep, so painful were these memories, that when the door opened, and he turned his white face to meet his brother-in-law, the family likeness was so strong that he could only hold out his hand and say, "Henry, I know it is Henry!" and then burst into a violent fit of sobbing.