At first Henry Halford felt quite bewildered. He had not reached his eighth birthday when Arthur and Fanny sailed for Australia, yet a sudden flash of recognition, added to the letter received from Arthur that morning, recalled his brother-in-law to his memory. "It is Arthur Franklyn," he exclaimed; "my dear sister's husband," and for a few moments Henry Halford was himself too much overcome to speak, or do more than press the hand of his brother-in-law as he held it. "Everything here reminded me so strongly of _her_," said Arthur, at last rousing himself, and already ashamed of the impulse, which, like all his other impulses, was so evanescent. "My wife and the children are at the door," he added. "How is the dear old father? I came in alone to prepare him, and the old place and its memories knocked me over." "You need not fear bringing them in," said Henry, as Arthur rubbed at his face and tried to remove all traces of his emotion. "My father is in feeble health, but his mind and memory are clear. He will be overjoyed to see the children." A few minutes longer, and then the greyheaded old man had fondly welcomed his daughter's children, and kindly greeted her successor. Mrs. Franklyn showed herself at her best, and won the good opinion of both father and son. It was arranged that they should all stay and partake of the schoolroom dinner to give the horses a rest, and then Kate Marston made her appearance. She was not slow to recognise Arthur, who was a few years younger than herself. The sixteen years had changed them both, but Arthur more than Kate Marston. Old Dr. Halford was the first to remark this with the plain-speaking of age, which is almost childlike in its character. "You are as comely as ever, Arthur," said the old-fashioned gentleman, "but you have changed more in the sixteen years than Kate." "No wonder, uncle," exclaimed Kate, "only think of all he has gone through, besides having the care of these motherless children. I have nobody to be anxious for but myself; no husband for me, thank you." And while she spoke, with a deep blush on the still fresh complexion, and a bright smile, Arthur could not help owning to himself that Time had dealt very gently with Kate Marston. "She has been anxious enough about me and my dear lost wife," said the old gentleman, in a querulous voice, "so you must not listen to Kate when she lays claim to a selfishness she does not possess. But really, Arthur, you are not looking at all well. You must comfort him, my dear," he added, addressing Mrs. Franklyn. "So much can be done by a second wife to soften down old memories in her husband's heart." "I hope I shall be able to do so," said the lady, in a gentle tone, which pleased the old man, and made Arthur say-- "I am not afraid, father; Louisa has already proved herself a kind and affectionate wife." He longed to add, "and a mother to my children," but at this moment a summons to dinner made any further remark unnecessary.