Had the great O'Boyneville's fate been in his own hands, would he have had his professional labour less, his leisure for home-duties and home-pleasures greater? Alas! it is very much to be feared that he would not have so chosen. He was but mortal man; and the triumphs of the law-courts, the compliments from the bench, and the "roars of laughter" reported in the newspapers, are very sweet to the forensic mind. A fortnight after the Brighton excursion there came a letter from Flo--a letter the contents of which Mr. O'Boyneville, who was sufficiently inquisitive upon occasions, begged to hear. As Mrs. Lobyer's epistle, though intensely affectionate, was by no means confidential, Cecil complied with her husband's request. The letter announced Mr. and Mrs. Lobyer's return from the Continent, and establishment at Pevenshall; and the writer entreated her dearest Cecil, and her dearest Cecil's husband, if possible, to spend Christmas at that country mansion. "You like Mrs. Lobyer, don't you, Cecil?" the barrister asked, when the perusal of the letter was finished. "Oh yes, I like her very much indeed." "Then why shouldn't you accept her invitation?" "But can you go, Laurence?" "Well, I rather fear not. I might run down for Christmas-day perhaps, and a few days after, while the courts are up; but that would all depend upon circumstances. In any case you ought to go, Cecil; the change of air and scene will do you good: you've not been looking well since my return from circuit." There was some discussion. Cecil did not care for gaiety; Cecil did not wish to leave her husband at Christmas time; but the barrister's strong will triumphed. "I let you have your own way in the summer, and I found you looking as pale as a ghost when I came home. You must let me have my way this time, Cecil," he said decisively. So it was decided that Lady Cecil should accept Mrs. Lobyer's invitation, and should go to Pevenshall on the fifteenth of December, where Mr. O'Boyneville would join her, if possible, during the Christmas week. A few days before she left Brunswick Square Cecil received a voluminous epistle from the dowager, who retailed all the gossip of the house in which she was staying for her niece's amusement, and furnished the barrister's wife with a brief chronicle of births, deaths, and marriages, pending or otherwise. The letter was written closely on two sheets of paper, both crossed, and in an obscure corner Cecil found a postscript. "I have heard from Hector Gordon. His regiment is ordered home, and he comes with it. Indeed, for all I know, he is in England at this moment." "He is as far away from me in England as he was in India," Cecil thought, as she folded the missive. "My aunt must know that he and I would never wish to meet, and hers is the only house in which I should be likely to see him."