Haggard was very particular about one thing. A large diamond-shaped hatchment on which the arms of the Haggards were emblazoned came down from town and was duly affixed over the principal entrance to the Priory. "It's to stay up for a year mind, Cunningham, tenant or no tenant, and then you can take it down and burn it if you like." The death of Justice Haggard caused the postponement of the proposed visit to Walls End Castle, and it was not till more than a year afterwards that the old earl's eyes were gladdened by the sight of his favourite, his great-nephew's wife. During the year of mourning, Georgie Haggard presented her husband with a son. The child had been born at The Warren. Their recent mourning had effectually prevented the Haggards from going much into society, so rather against the grain, Haggard had consented to remain the guest of his father-in-law, varying the monotony of his long stay at The Warren by an occasional run up to town. At first he had proposed a furnished house, but he had been warned by the local practitioner that it would be unwise and imprudent to subject his wife to unnecessary fatigue, or to let her lose the benefit of the air of her native place. There was not much fuss made on the arrival of the little George; he, poor little chap, was provided with a humble attendant from the village, Fanchette being still retained to minister to the wants, whims and foibles of the elder child. Miss Lucy Warrender had enjoyed the successive delights of two London seasons; she went everywhere, she was as much admired as ever. Lucy Warrender was not a mere beauty to be stared at; she was a brilliant conversationalist and possessed considerable powers of repartee. She had an artless way of administering cruel stabs to her female acquaintances which frequently turned them into enemies. When Mrs. Charmington had innocently asked her whether she considered her proposed appearance upon the stage _infra dig._, she had replied that she thought her friend couldn't do better, "for," added she gently, "they tell me, dear Mrs. Charmington, that actresses never grow old." Lucy Warrender had not been without her triumphs; she had had several offers, and good offers too, but she refused them all, and Lucy Warrender was Lucy Warrender still. Excitement was an absolute necessity to Lucy; there was a persistent craving in her mind for something new, and a ceaseless round of amusement was what she could not do without. Many girls would have knocked up from the effects of continuous late hours, heated rooms and high living, but Lucy seemed to thrive upon it. She was now nearly two-and-twenty, and from the time she had been able to think she had never troubled herself about anybody's comfort but her own. The maternal instinct had never been awakened in her; she petted the little Lucius simply because he was good-looking, and because she knew that a well-dressed, good-looking young person engaged in petting a child who