‘But, Mrs Eden, I am sure that would set it right again,’ said Lily, ‘are not you? I would do anything to have that poor baby christened.’ Lily’s confidence melted away as she saw that Mrs. Eden’s tears were falling fast, and she ended with, ‘Only tell them, and we shall see what will happen.’ ‘Very well, Miss Lilias,’ said Mrs. Eden. ‘I am very sorry.’ ‘Let us hope that time and patience will set things right,’ said Miss Weston, to relieve the embarrassment of both parties. ‘Your brother must soon see that Mr. Devereux only wishes to do his duty.’ Alethea skilfully covered Lily’s retreat, and the party took leave of Mrs. Eden, and turned into their homeward path. Lily at first seemed disposed to be silent, and Miss Weston therefore amused herself with listening to the chatter of the little girls as they walked on before them. ‘There are only thirty-six days to the holidays,’ said Phyllis; ‘Ada and I keep a paper in the nursery with the account of the number of days. We shall be so glad when Claude, and Maurice, and Redgie come home.’ ‘Are they not very boisterous?’ said Marianne. ‘Not Maurice,’ said Phyllis. ‘No, indeed,’ said Lily, ‘Maurice is like nobody else. He takes up some scientific pursuit each time he comes home, and cares for nothing else for some time, and then quite forgets it. He is an odd-looking boy too, thick and sturdy, with light flaxen hair, and dark, overhanging eyebrows, and he makes the most extraordinary grimaces.’ ‘And Reginald?’ said Alethea. ‘Oh! Redgie is a noble-looking fellow. But just eleven, and taller than Jane. His complexion so fair, yet fresh and boyish, and his eyes that beautiful blue that Ada’s are—real blue. Then his hair, in dark brown waves, with a rich auburn shine. The old knights must have been just like Redgie. And Claude—Oh! Miss Weston, have you ever seen Claude?’ ‘No, but I have seen your eldest brother.’ ‘William? Why, he has been in Canada these three years. Where could you have seen him?’ ‘At Brighton, about four years ago.’ ‘Ah! the year before he went. I remember that his regiment was there. Well, it is curious that you should know him; and did you ever hear of Harry, the brother that we lost?’ ‘I remember Captain Mohun’s being called away to Oxford by his illness,’ said Alethea. ‘Ah, yes! William was the only one of us who was with him, even papa was not there. His illness was so short.’ ‘Yes,’ said Alethea, ‘I think it was on a Tuesday that Captain Mohun left Brighton, and we saw his death in the paper on Saturday.’ ‘William only arrived the evening that he died. Papa was gone to Ireland to see about Cousin Rotherwood’s property. Robert, not knowing that, wrote to him at Beechcroft; Eleanor forwarded the letter without opening it, and so we knew nothing till Robert came to tell us that all was over.’ ‘Without any preparation?’