“You must let me stay in this house, father—I do not care where—only I must have the shelter of your paternal roof.” “I can go to the inn perfectly well, dear father,” added Henry. “And Ellen can have her old room,” interposed Matilda; “little Caroline can sleep with me, and George can sleep on the sofa in Mr. Allenham’s dressing-room; and now it is all arranged, so don’t you be cross, papa. Ellen looks quite ill, and I dare say she is faint for want of something to eat, so leave it all to me, and don’t make a fuss, that’s all, papa,” and she gave her father a playful tap on the cheek. She was a high-spirited, warm-hearted, ingenuous girl, in many respects the precise opposite of her sisters. If her father was cross, her spirit rose; and she consequently possessed that sort of control over him which the most decided, positive, and wilful, generally obtains over the less resolute temper, whatever may be their relative positions. She was also an excellent manager, always had cold meat in the house, and was never at a loss for an expedient on any emergency. Caroline was exceedingly uneasy at the appearance of Ellen, and remembered her fainting fits when she had been last at Belhanger. Her look of settled grief, coupled with the absence of Mr. Hamilton, made her fear that, notwithstanding the affection which had formerly subsisted between them, their quarrel must have been a serious one, and that her unannounced arrival must mean that they were separated. She found, also, that only the two Cresford children accompanied her; and this served to confirm her fears. Even Captain Wareham began to be alarmed at the subdued yet resolute manner of Ellen; and looked from one to the other, perplexed, amazed, and annoyed. “I suppose you want something to eat, Ellen?” “No, father! I could not touch any thing.” “And the children must have supper.” “Matilda, you will give them some tea, poor little things?” she answered, turning towards Matilda. “I could not eat a mouthful either,” said Henry, “so do not get any thing for me, father. I wish you would just step this way, I want to consult you which inn I had best go to.” “My dear boy, it is very chilly to-night, and you may just as well consult me here by the fire.” “Ellen,” added Henry, “would you not be better up-stairs on the sofa? Ellen is not well, father, and we must take great care of her!” “You do not seem well indeed, Ellen. Why, you look ten years older, girl, than when I saw you last!” Ellen had risen from her seat, and was mechanically obeying Henry in walking up-stairs, when he said, “Do give Ellen your arm, Allenham, she is faint and weak. I have some things to arrange, and will follow you presently.” Captain Wareham, whose parental tenderness had been awakened by the expression of suffering in Ellen’s face, was following also, when Henry laid his hand upon his arm, and forcibly detained him. He closed the door after them. Captain Wareham turned round.