Life at the Park fell into this channel and went on quite peaceful, even not unhappily, strange as it may seem. Lord Frogmore recovered his health under the constant ministrations of Rogers. He had an excellent constitution: his cheeks got back their rosy hue and became firm and round again; his step recovered its elasticity. He was again pointed out to everybody as the most wonderful old gentleman of his age in the whole county. He still walked in the avenue daily with his little boy, who, though later than ordinary, learned to walk, and trotted by his old father’s side in a way which was not quite so pathetic, making the woods ring with a little voice, which, though it was perhaps not so loud as others little boys’ voices, was still full of “flichterin’ noise and glee.” The child was always with his Aunt Agnes when he was indoors, and therefore he acquired something of that undue development which falls to the share of those children brought up exclusively among elder people. Lord Frogmore kept up the habit which his wife and he had established at the beginning of their married life, of having Duke very often at the Park. Duke was now a big boy and at school, but he was exceedingly tenderly good to the baby, as boys sometimes are. Little Marmaduke preferred his namesake and cousin (whom he had supplanted) to any one in the world. It was the prettiest relationship--to see the big boy so tender to the small one did the heart good. Duke seemed to know that he had something to make up and was in some special manner appealed to by the delicacy of the little cousin, though indeed it was quite the opposite point of view that commended itself to most people. But Lord Frogmore had thought of that also. He had thought it his duty to provide specially for Duke, which was always something, though it did not by any means subdue the grudge in Letitia’s heart. Thus, however, things went on in a subdued composure and calm of life that was not unhappy. It may be said that the thought of Mary, his wife whom he loved, was never long absent from Lord Frogmore’s mind, and gave him many a pang; but still every day, taking off a legitimate time for sleep, is at the least, let us say, fifteen or sixteen hours long, and there were many intervals in which he did not think of Mary, or at least not exclusively. And little Marmaduke (who was called Mar to distinguish from his cousin) became very amusing as he grew older, and his father doted upon him. In the evening before it was time to prepare for dinner, and especially in the winter evenings when Mar sat upon his stool before the fire, with the warm light reflected in his eyes, and chattered about everything, the old lord had many happy hours; as happy almost as if it had been Mary and not Agnes who sat on the other side of the fire.