“I believe you are going to be shown over the house,” he said, offering his arm, “and you must let me show you my library myself. I have not very much,” said Sir John with that tone of mock humility which never deceives the experienced, “that is worth looking at; but there are one or two pictures, and some old Roman rubbish, which, perhaps, you may not care about. Are you fond of antiquities? I know that you are kind to them, at least,” he said, giving her hand a little fatherly pat as she put it shyly on his arm. Nancy felt her head swim as she walked through the great hall leaning on Sir John’s arm. He talked to her all the way, pointing out one thing and another. “This is one of our treasures--it is a bit of bas-relief found in an old temple near Rome. Have you ever been so far? Ah! then you have the pleasure to come. I think it is much better than going when you are too young to appreciate what you see. Yes, this is my favourite room. There are plenty of books you see--a great many more than I make any use of nowadays--some of them, perhaps, are not quite lady’s reading; but there are a great many which I daresay you would like, and which you will always be welcome to. This is one of the pictures we are proud of. It is a Sir Joshua. It is the portrait of my grandfather. Ah! you start, you see the likeness? It _is_ very like my son. My lady has been telling you of him, no doubt? Yes, Arthur was the apple of her eye; and will be yet--and will be yet, please God.” Nancy did not hear much more. The choking of those tears she dared not shed, and those words she did not say, was more than she could bear. “Oh! please forgive me!” she said, sobbing aloud, “I can’t help it. No, no, I am not ill--but it brings so many things back--” “My dear young lady,” said Sir John alarmed. “You have got upset. Shall I take you back to Lady Curtis, or will you rest here?”