"Of course not, nurse; there could not be two such paragons in one house," returned Garth, squeezing the old woman's hard hand, and trying to whistle as he mounted to his seat and took the reins in hand, but the whistle was a failure. He looked up at the porch-room somewhat bitterly as he drove off. He was shaking off the dust of the place from his feet, so he told himself, but there was a hard, resentful pain at his heart as he did so. No one knew what to make of the young master when he appeared hot and dusty at the works. Two or three of the men had been soundly rated for some slight omission of duty, and one of the severest lectures that he had ever received from his brother had been dinned into Ted's astonished ear. "I am sick of your laziness and want of punctuality; if you cannot fulfil your duties properly you must find work elsewhere," stormed the young master of Warstdale. With all his sweet temper, Ted had much ado not to flare up and get into a passion. "Haven't we all caught it nicely at the works! there is a screw loose somewhere," observed Ted confidentially to his sisters that evening, as Garth drove the dog-cart round to the stables. The brothers had driven home from the quarry in perfect silence, and Ted, who was still a little sore over the rating he had received, had made no attempt to promote cheerfulness. "I hope there is nothing wrong between him and Dora," observed Langley, dropping her work a little anxiously. Poor soul, her own troubles had made her nervous; but on that point Ted could not enlighten her. Evidently Garth had attempted to recover his temper, for he came in presently, and greeted his sisters affectionately. "I hope you have lost your headache, Langley?" he said, as he took up the paper knife and the latest periodical, and withdrew with them to the window. "Did you see them off? Have they had any better accounts of Florence? You look tired and done up, Garth," enquired his sister anxiously. "Yes; they went off all right. Miss Cunningham sends her love to you and Cathy. They made me very comfortable as usual, and gave me my old room." Garth was trying to read by the evening light, and his face was hidden. "One is always comfortable at the Vicarage; Dora is such a capital manager," returned Langley, feeling her way in feminine fashion. "Poor girl, Florence's illness must be a sad trial to her." "Humph! she takes it as coolly as she does most things. When are the lights coming, and what has become of tea?" demanded Garth, a little irritably; and Langley knew that she was not to ask any more questions.