At this moment the door opened, and a little woman, quiet though somewhat anxious looking, came out. She evinced no surprise at the sight of the good-for-nothing nephew in the dimly-lighted passage, greeting him in a low voice. “How have they been to-day, nurse?” he asked. “Oh, they have been well enough, Master Christian,” was the reply, in a cheerful undertone. “Aunt Judith has 'most got rid of her cold. But they've been very trying, sir--just like children, as wilful as could be--the same question over and over again till I was fit to cry. They are quieter now, but--but it's you they're abusing now, Master Chris!” The young fellow looked down into the little woman's face. His eyes were sympathetic enough, but he said nothing. With a little nod and a suppressed sigh he turned away from her. He laid his hand upon the door and then stopped. “As soon as you have brought up tea,” he said, looking back, “I will take them for the evening, and you can have your rest as usual.” From the room came, at intervals, the ring of silver, as if some one were moving the spoons and forks from the table. Christian waited until these sounds had ceased before he entered. “Good evening, Aunt Judith. Good evening, Aunt Hester,” he said cheerily. They were exactly alike, these two old ladies; the same marvellously wrinkled features and silver hair; voluminous caps and white woollen shawls identical. With exaggerated marks of respect he kissed each by turn on her withered cheek. “May I sit down, Aunt Judith?” he asked, and without waiting for an answer drew a chair towards the fireplace, where a small fire burnt though it was the month of August. “Yes, Nephew Vellacott, you may take a seat,” replied Aunt Judith with chill severity, “and you may also tell us where you have been during the last four weeks.” Poor old human wreck! Only ten hours earlier her nephew had bid her farewell for the day. Christian began an explanation in a weary, mechanical way, like an actor tired of the part assigned to him, but the old ladies would not listen. Aunt Hester interrupted him promptly. “Your shallow excuses are wasted on us, Nephew Vellacott. You have doubtless been away, enjoying yourself and leaving us--us who support you and deprive ourselves in order to keep a decent coat upon your back--leaving us to the mercy of all the thieves in London. And tell us, pray--what are we to do for spoons and forks to-night?” “What?” exclaimed Christian with perfunctory interest, “have the spoons gone--?” he almost said “again,” but checked himself in time. He turned to look at the table, which had been carefully denuded of every piece of silver.