“You must get him to take tea with us, Mary.” “Certainly,” answered Mrs. Channing. “In six months from this, James, you may be as well and active as ever.” Mr. Channing raised his hands, as if warding off the words. Not of the words was he afraid, but of the hopes they whispered. “I think too much about it, already, Mary. It is not as though I were sure of getting to the medicinal baths.” “We will take care that you do that, sir,” said Hamish, with his sunny smile. “_You_ cannot help in it, you know, Hamish,” interposed saucy Annabel. “It will be Arthur and Constance who will help--not you. I heard you say so!” “But I have changed my mind, and intend to help,” returned Hamish. “And, if you will allow me the remark, young lady, I think it would better become a certain little girl, not to chatter quite so much!” Was Hamish speaking in jest, or earnest, with regard to the _helping_ point of the affair? A peculiar tone in his voice, in spite of its lightness, had struck both Constance and Arthur, each being in the secret of his more than want of funds. The second bell was beginning to chime as the Channings entered the cloister gates. Tom and Charles had gone on before. Panting, breathless, almost knocking down Annabel, came Tod Yorke, terribly afraid of being marked late. “Take care, Tod!” exclaimed Hamish. “Are you running for a wager?” “Don’t keep me, Mr. Hamish Channing! Those incapable servants of ours never called us till the bell began. I have had no breakfast, and Gerald couldn’t find his shirt. He has had to come off in his dirty one, with his waistcoat buttoned up. Won’t my lady be in a rage when she sees him?” Getting up and breakfasting were generally bustling affairs at Lady Augusta’s; but the confusion of every day was as nothing compared with that of Sunday. Master Tod was wrong when he complained that he had not been called. The servants had called both him and Gerald, who shared the same room, but the young gentlemen had gone to sleep again. The breakfast hour was the same as other mornings, nine o’clock; but, for all the observance it obtained, it might as well have been nine at night. To give the servants their due, breakfast, on this morning, was on the table at nine--that is, the cloth, the cups and saucers: and there it remained until ten. The maids meanwhile enjoyed their own leisurely breakfast in the kitchen, regaling themselves with hot coffee, poached eggs, buttered toast, and a dish of gossip. At ten, Lady Augusta, who made a merit of always rising to breakfast on a Sunday, entered the breakfast-room in a dirty morning wrapper, and rang the bell. “Is nobody down?” cried she, sharply. “I think not, my lady,” was Martha’s reply. “I have not heard them. I have been three times in the young ladies’ room, but they would not get up.”