On the terrace Mary Gifford stood in her black garments, relieved by a long white veil, holding her impatient boy by the hand, while Lucy, no less impatient, was hoping every minute that she should receive a message from Lady Pembroke. The group at last caught the attention of Lady Mary, who had been in earnest conversation with her daughter. 'Ah! there is Mistress Gifford,' she exclaimed, 'and the little sister of whom Philip spoke as suitable to be one of your waiting-women. Let us hasten to speak with them. They have been, I fear, waiting too long.' 'Yes; it was heedless of me to forget them; but there is the bell sounding for dinner in the hall, shall we not bid them sit down at the board? They must needs be weary after their long walk, and the service, to say naught of the sermon,' Lady Pembroke added, laughing. 'Hush, then; I see the good minister coming towards us. He means well, and is a godly man.' 'I do not doubt it, sweet mother; but let us mount the steps to the terrace, and show some courtesy to those waiting our pleasure there.' 'They are coming towards us, Mary. Mary!' Lucy exclaimed, 'come forward and meet them.' 'Yes, mother,' Ambrose said fretfully, dragging at his mother's hand. 'I thought I was to see Mr Sidney, and that he would let me ride again. I am so weary and so hungry.' Lady Pembroke soon tripped up the stone steps, Lady Mary following more slowly. Lady Pembroke had all the graceful courtesy which distinguished her brother; and that high-bred manner which, quite apart from anything like patronage, always sets those who may be on a lower rung of the social ladder at ease in casual intercourse. [Illustration: PENSHURST CASTLE, FROM THE PARK.] There are many who aspire to be thought 'aristocratic' in their manners, and who may very successfully imitate the dress and surroundings of the old noblesse. But this gift, which showed so conspicuously in the family of the Sidneys, is an inheritance, and cannot be really copied. It is so easy to patronise from a lofty vantage ground, so difficult to make those below it feel that the distance is not thought of as an impassable gulf, but is bridged over by the true politeness which lies not on the surface, but has its root deep in the consideration for others, which finds expression in forgetfulness of self, and in remembering the feelings and tastes of those with whom we are brought in contact. Like the mists of morning under the warm beams of the sun, Mary Gifford's restraint and shy reserve vanished when Lady Pembroke exclaimed,-- 'Ah, here is the little knight that Philip told me of. See, mother, he must be a playfellow for your Thomas.' Lady Mary was somewhat breathless. She could not climb the steep, stone stairs as quickly as her daughter. 'Mistress Gifford must stay and dine with us, Mary, and then Thomas shall show him the pictures in the new book Philip has brought him from London.' 'Are there pictures of horses and knights, madam?' Ambrose asked.