"What is it that is amiss with him, Johnny?" Lady Bevere said, coming to me as I stood on the hearthrug before the fire, Tottams having disappeared with Harriet. "He looks wretchedly ill; _ill with care_, as it seems to me; and he cannot eat." What could I answer? How was it possible, with those kind, candid blue eyes, so like Roger's, looking confidingly into mine, to tell her that nothing was amiss? "Dear Lady Bevere, do not be troubled," I said at length. "A little matter has been lately annoying Roger in London, and--and--I suppose he cannot forget it down here." "Is it money trouble?" she asked. "Not exactly. No; it's not money. Perhaps Roger will tell you himself. But please do not say anything to him unless he does." "Why cannot you tell me, Johnny?" Had Madam Lizzie been in the house, rendering discovery inevitable, I would have told her then, and so far spared Roger the pain. But she was not; she might not come; in which case perhaps the disclosure need not be made--or, at any rate, might be staved off to a future time. Lady Bevere held my hands in hers. "You know what this trouble is, Johnny; all about it?" "Yes, that's true. But I cannot tell it you. I have no right to." "I suppose you are right," she sighed. "But oh, my dear, you young people cannot know what such griefs are to a mother's heart; the dread they inflict, the cruel suspense they involve." And the evening passed on to its close, and Lizzie had not come. A little circumstance occurred that night, not much to relate, but not pleasant in itself. George, a good-looking young clergyman, got in very late and half-frozen--close upon eleven o'clock. He would not have supper brought back, but said he should be glad of some hot brandy-and-water. The water was brought in and put with the brandy on a side-table. George mixed a glass for himself, and Roger went and mixed one. By-and-bye, when Roger had disposed of that, he went back to mix a second. Mr. Brandon glided up behind him. "No, Roger, not in your mother's house," he whispered, interposing a hand of authority between Roger and the brandy. "Though you may drink to an unseemly extent in town, you shall not here." "Roger got some brandy-and-water from mamma this afternoon," volunteered Miss Tottams, dancing up to them. She had been allowed to sit up to help dress the rooms; and, of all little pitchers, she had the sharpest ears. "He said he felt sick, Uncle John." They came back to the fire and sat down again, Roger looking in truth sick; sick almost unto death. Mr. Brandon went up to bed; Lady Bevere soon followed, and we began the rooms, Harriet and Jacob coming in to help. Roger exclaimed at the splendid heaps of holly. Of late years he had seen only the poor scraps they get in London. * * * * * "A merry Christmas to you, Roger!" "Don't, Johnny! Better that you should wish me dead."