He was rejoiced to find on coming down-stairs that Lance had decided on giving another day to family counsels, sending off little Felix with his cousins, who would drop him at the junction to Stoneborough, whence he would be proud to travel alone. Clement took another resolution, in virtue of which he knocked at his sister’s door before she went down. “Cherry,” said he, “would it be inconvenient to keep Francie here just for the present?” “Not at all; it would be only too pleasant for Anna now that she loses her brother. But why?” “I want to hinder her from hearing the conclusions that her mother may draw from the diversions of yesterday.” “I see. It might soon be, ‘He cometh not, she said.’” “And Sophy will keep her counsel as to those moonlight wanderings. When were they to go?” “By the 11.30 train. Marilda is coming up first.” So the plan was propounded. Franceska was only too much charmed to stay in what had indeed been an enchanted coast to her, and Sophy was sure that mamma would not mind; so the matter was settled, and the explanatory notes written. The party set off, with each little boy hugging a ship in full sail, and the two young sisters were disposed of by a walk to Clipstone to talk over their adventures. Mrs. Grinstead felt certain of the good manners and reticence prevailing there to prevent any banter about Lord Ivinghoe, and she secured the matter further by a hint to Anna. However, Miss Mohun was announced almost as they left the house. She too was full of the bazaar, which seemed so long ago to her hearers, but with the result of which she was exceedingly delighted. The voluntary schools were secured for the present, and the gratitude of the Church folk was unbounded, especially to the Vale Leston family, who had contributed so greatly to the success of the whole. Jane too had watched the evening manoeuvres, and perceived, with her sharp eyes, all that was avowed and not avowed under that rising moon. The pair of whom she had first to speak were “Ivanhoe and Rowena,” as she called them, and she was glad to find that the “fair Saxon” had grown up at Vale Leston, educated by her aunt and sister, and imbibing no outside habits or impressions. “Poor child,” said Jane, “she looks like a flower; one is sorry it should be meddled with.” “So did my sister Stella, and there, contrary to all our fears, the course of true love did run smooth.” “If it depended entirely on Rotherwood himself, I think it would,” said Jane, “but--” She paused and went on, “Ivinghoe is, I fear, really volage, and he is the mark of a good many London mammas.” “Is it true about Mrs. Henderson’s sister?”