DEAR WIFE,--The Bill has gone to the Lords. I expect they will send it to the devil. I am fairly tired out; and, with all my heart, I wish myself at Atheling. It may be Christmas before I get there. Do as well as you can till I come. Tell Kitty, I would give a sovereign for a sight of her. Your affectionate Husband, JOHN ATHELING. About a couple of weeks after this letter, one evening in October, Mrs. Atheling, Kate, and Annie were returning to Atheling House from Gisbourne, where they had been happily busy all the afternoon. They were easy-hearted, but rather quiet; each in that mood of careless stillness which broods on its own joy or sorrow. The melancholy of the autumn night influenced them,--calm, pallid, and a little sad, with a dull, soft murmur among the firs,--so they did not hurry, and it was nearly dark when they came in sight of the house. Then Mrs. Atheling roused herself. "How good a cup of tea will taste," she said; "and I dare say it is waiting, for Ann has lighted the room, I see." Laughing and echoing her remark, they reached the parlour. On opening the door, Mrs. Atheling uttered a joyful cry. "Why, John! Why, Edgar!" "To be sure, Maude," answered the Squire, leaping up and taking her in his arms. "I wonder how thou feelest to have thy husband come home and find thee out of the house, and not a bit of eating ready for him." Then Mrs. Atheling pointed to the table, and said, "I do not think there is any need for complaint, John." "No; we managed, Edgar and me, by good words and bad words, to get something for ourselves--" and he waved his hand complacently over the table, loaded with all kinds of eatables,--a baron of cold beef, cold Yorkshire pudding, a gypsy pie, Indian preserves, raspberry tarts, clotted cream, roast apples, cheese celery, fine old ale, strong gunpowder tea, and a variety of condiments. "What do you call this meal, John?" "I call it a decent kind of a tea, and I want thee to try and learn something from its example." Then he kissed her again, and looked anxiously round for Kitty. "Come here, my little girl," he cried; and Kitty, who had been feeling a trifle neglected, forgot everything but the warmth and gladness of her father's love and welcome. Edgar had found Annie a seat beside his own, and the Squire managed to get his place between his wife and his daughter. Then the "cup of tea" Mrs. Atheling had longed for became a protracted home festival. But they could not keep politics out of its atmosphere; they were, indeed, so blended with the life of that time that their separation from household matters was impossible, and the Squire was no more anxious to hear about his hunters and his harvest, than Mrs. Atheling was to know the fate of the Reform Bill. "It has passed at last, I suppose, John," she said, with an air of satisfied certainty. "Thou supposest very far wrong, then. It has been rejected again." "Never! Never! Never! Oh, John, John! It is not possible!"