“It is all my mother’s fault,” he murmured to himself, as he kicked his dangling heels disconsolately against the solid oak. “If my mother would but behave like other people! If she had kept up her house and establishment in London, or even if she had given Arthur the means of living like a gentleman, I never will believe that he _could_ have got into these awful scrapes. What will happen if he does not marry soon, God knows; and yet _for_ that poor girl’s sake one ought not to wish it. I was sure how it would all be if once--” He drew a long whistling breath, and threw down the end of his cigar, crushing its last spark out with the heel of his boot. It was nine o’clock now, and the great church-like stable-bell had already called the “faithful” to evening prayers; and from force of habit, it is to be feared, rather than from a higher and more Christian cause, Horace Vavasour hurried back to the Castle. He did not seem to himself, however, to care much whether he infringed Lady Millicent’s rules on that sweet May evening or not. He was a man now, with a man’s profession, a man’s cares, and, to a certain extent, a man’s responsibilities. For years--very long years they appeared now as he looked back to them--he had nightly seen that long array of serving men and women lining the old oak wall, and, as it were, praying. He had heard his lady mother read many a blessing over their heads; but somehow or other the ceremony had not seemed to bring a blessing with it; and Horace was certainly rather consoled than otherwise with the reflection that from that day forward, for many a night to come, he would be allowed to spend his evening hours as he pleased. CHAPTER XII. UPHILL WORK. It was now the middle of June, and Honor Beacham was undergoing the often painful process of “settling down” in her new home. The observation is no new one, that the presence of a mother-in-law, be she the parent of either wife or husband, in the _ménage_ of a newly-married couple is seldom conducive to happiness. Honor, in common with all the world, had heard the aphorism--heard it without believing it; for why, she had often asked herself, should there of necessity be jealousies and bickerings amongst those who were so near of kin, and whose interests were identically the same? For her part, although a certain nervous shyness, rare amongst her country people, made her a little “foolish,” as John called it, when she thought of the possible difficulty of pleasing his mother, yet, on the whole, she had entertained no doubt of her success. The experience of her short life had not accustomed her to failure. As yet, Honor had met with far more smiles than frowns, as she stepped gaily along the flower-strewn path of life. Why, then, was she to entertain misgivings of the future? Why suppose that her untiring efforts to gain love and praise would be likely, in the case of John’s obdurate mother, to be met with nothing better than “snubbings” and mortification?