‘Do it yourself, you rogue,’ was the answer, at the same time approaching with the hot sealing-wax in his hand—a demonstration which occasioned Claude to open his eyes very wide, without giving himself any further trouble about the matter. ‘Eh?’ said he, ‘now they try to look innocent, as if no one could hear them plotting mischief.’ ‘Them! it was not!—Redgie there—young ladies—I appeal—was not I as innocent?’—was the very rapid, incoherent, and indistinct answer. ‘After so lucid and connected a justification, no more can be said,’ replied Claude, in a kind of ‘leave me, leave me to repose’ tone, which occasioned Lilias to say, ‘I am afraid you are very tired.’ ‘Tired! what has he done to tire him?’ ‘I am sure a wedding is a terrible wear of spirits!’ said Emily—‘such excitement.’ ‘Well—when I give a spectacle to the family next year, I mean to tire you to some purpose.’ ‘Eh?’ said Mr. Mohun, looking up, ‘is Rotherwood’s wedding to be the next?’ ‘You ought to understand, uncle,’ said Lord Rotherwood, making two stops towards him, and speaking a little more clearly, ‘I thought you longed to get rid of your nephew and his concerns.’ ‘You idle boy!’ returned Mr. Mohun, ‘you do not mean to have the impertinence to come of age next year.’ ‘As much as having been born on the 30th of July, 1825, can make me.’ ‘But what good will your coming of age do us?’ said Lilias, ‘you will be in London or Brighton, or some such stupid place.’ ‘Do not be senseless, Lily,’ returned her cousin. ‘Devereux Castle is to be in splendour—Hetherington in amazement—the county’s hair shall stand on end—illuminations, bonfires, feasts, balls, colours flying, bands playing, tenants dining, fireworks—’ ‘Hurrah! jolly! jolly!’ shouted Reginald, dancing on the ottoman, ‘and mind there are lots of squibs.’ ‘And that Master Reginald Mohun has a new cap and bells for the occasion,’ said Lord Rotherwood. ‘Let me make some fireworks,’ said Maurice. ‘You will begin like a noble baron of the hospitable olden time,’ said Lily. ‘It will be like the old days, when every birthday of yours was a happy day for the people at Hetherington,’ said Emily. ‘Ah! those were happy old days,’ said Lord Rotherwood, in a graver tone. ‘These are happy days, are not they?’ said Lily, smiling. Her cousin answered with a sigh, ‘Yes, but you do not remember the old ones, Lily;’ then, after a pause, he added, ‘It was a grievous mistake to shut up the castle all these years. We have lost sight of everybody. I do not even know what has become of the Aylmers.’ ‘They went to live in London,’ said Emily, ‘Aunt Robert used to write to them there.’ ‘I know, I know, but where are they now?’ ‘In London, I should think,’ said Emily. ‘Some one said Miss Aylmer was gone out as a governess.’