“Are you going to walk out this morning, before breakfast, Mr. Sutherland?” A nod and smile was his answer. He was depressed, despondent; he felt that he had no part in all that was going on in that house—he felt himself a stranger and an alien. Yet, too generous and benevolent to damp the spirits of the lads by his own gloom, he smiled upon them kindly, and when they asked permission to accompany him, he inquired, gaily, how it happened that, while all were so very busy, in the house and on the grounds, they alone should be idle. “Oh, Mrs. Vivian drives us out of the way—even Rose won’t let us help her, and father threatens to lock us up if we don’t keep quiet. We’re driven about from post to pillar; and so we came out to walk with _you_. Father and the rest of them making such a fuss! just as if nobody ever got married before St. Gerald!” said Richard, contemptuously. Another might have rebuked the boy for speaking so disrespectfully; but Mark had little of the tutor spirit in him, after all. Rosalie was right in that. They left the piazza, crossed the lawn, and took the narrow path leading along the course of the stream-the boys sometimes affectionately holding his hands, and sometimes one or the other suddenly breaking away to pluck and bring him an early violet, or eglantine rose, or to throw a pebble in the stream, where some small fish had started up. At last— “Making such a fuss!” again complained Richard; “making such a fuss, and driving us about so that we boys can’t have a bit of peace of our lives! Just as if _she_ were so much better than everybody else in the world, that so much trouble must be taken for _her_.” “Whom are you talking of?” inquired Mr. Sutherland, carelessly. “Why the young lady St. Gerald is going to marry, to be sure!” “Ah, then, Mr. Ashley is going to bring home a wife, is he?” “Why, _of course_ he is!” said Henry, warming up. “He is going to be married to a beautiful young lady, very rich, who was the belle of the city last winter, they say!” “Oh, she is as rich and as beautiful as a princess in a fairy book; and that’s what all the fuss is about,” sneered Richard. “Don’t you mind Rich, Mr. Sutherland; he can’t bear to have a word said about anybody but himself!” “As if I wanted anybody to bother themselves about me—I’m not so much like _you_ as _that_,” retorted Richard. And thereupon arose the usual squabble between the lads, until their tutor interfered and restored order, if not good feeling. They continued their walk for about a mile along the mountain stream, and then returning by the back hills, got home at the breakfast hour. Colonel Ashley, Mrs. Vivian, and Rose, were already seated at the breakfast table, and engaged in eager conversation concerning the approaching marriage of the heir of the house, when Mr. Sutherland and the lads entered.