picture-frames, gilt and ungilt, and other very simple articles, carved workboxes and book-shelves. “Oh, Spears! has Markham been here?” the young man cried with a certain relief in his tone, evidently pleased not to see the person of whom he was in search. The workman looked up from his work. He was busy with a glue-pot, and the varnish which smelt so badly. He did not rise from his bench in honour of the gentleman, or remove his cap from his head. He said shortly, but in a voice of unusual sweetness and refinement-- “He is here still. He has gone up stairs, to wash his hands I suppose.” “Ah!” said Fairfax. It was not a syllable, it was a sigh. He had hoped to have escaped easily; but it was not to be so. He went to the foot of the stairs, which led directly out of the workshop. “Markham!” he cried, “are you there? Come down at once; you are wanted.” How could he throw special significance into his voice? It sounded to himself just as careless as usual, though he had meant to make it very serious. “Markham, I say, there’s some one wants you--important! Come at once!” he added, going up a few steps. Sir William stood stiffly down below, watching with the utmost attention, while the workman upon his bench eyed him with suspicious eyes. Then Paul’s voice came still more lightly from above, striking strangely upon the ear of his father, who had never heard that tone in it before. “Confound you, what’s the hurry?” Paul said. “If it’s a dun you ought to know better than to bring him here. I’ll come when I’m ready.” “Markham! I tell you it’s of the first importance,” said the young man, going a step or two higher, but still quite audible to Sir William. Then there came a burst of laughter from above, seconded by what sounded to Sir William’s suspicious ears like feminine voices. “Is it the Vice-chancellor?” said Paul; “or the Provost? Say the word, and I’ll get out over the leads or through the window--” The next moment he appeared, rubbing his hands in a towel, and without his coat, with a face more full of laughter than, Sir William thought, he had ever seen it before; and this time he felt certain that he heard women laughing up stairs. He was standing with his back to the light, and his son did not see him for the moment. Paul came down stairs, gradually emerging, always rubbing his hands. He called out-- “Who is it, Spears? What is this fellow making a fuss about?” “I cannot tell who it is,” said the workman; “it is some one who has come into my house without taking the trouble to notice me. I presume therefore that it must be what is called a gentleman.” The sound of the man’s voice was so pleasant that Sir William did not at first realise the offence in it; and at that moment he was too much absorbed in watching the changes of his son’s countenance to think of anything else.