"I thought it was Cris," he said. "He is learning to be as sly as a fox: though I don't know that he was ever anything else. When I am ordered to bed before my time, he has taken to dodging into the room every ten minutes to see that I am safe in it. Have they missed me, Maude?" "I don't know," she answered. "I also came away without their knowing it. I have been down to Aunt Ryle's, and George has brought me home again." "Will you be pleased, to sit down, Miss, Maude?" asked Ann Canham, dusting a chair. "Eh, but that's a pretty picture!" cried old Canham, gazing at Maude, who had slipped off her heavy shawl, and stood warming her hands at the fire. Mark Canham was right. A very pretty picture. He extended the hand that was not helpless towards her. "Miss Maude, I mind me seeing your mother looking just as you look now. The Squire was out, and the young ladies at the Hold thought they'd give a dance, and Parson Dean and Miss Emily were invited to it. I don't know that they'd have been asked if the Squire had been at home, matters not being smooth between him and parson. She was older than you be; but she was dressed just as you be now; and I could fancy, as I look at you, that it was her over again. I was in the rooms, helping to wait. It doesn't seem so long ago! Miss Emily was the sweetest-looking of 'em all present; and the young heir seemed to think so. He opened the ball with Miss Emily in spite of his sisters; they wanted him to choose somebody grander. Ah, me! and both of 'em lying low so soon after, leaving you two behind 'em!" "Mark!" cried Rupert, throwing his eyes on the old man--eyes sparkling with excitement--"if they had lived, papa and mamma, I should not have been sent to bed to-night because there's another party at Trevlyn Hold." Mark's only answer was to put up his hands with an indignant gesture. Ann Canham was still offering the chair to Maude. Maude declined it. "I cannot stay, Ann. They will miss me if I don't return. Rupert, you will come?" "To be boxed up in my bedroom, whilst the rest of you are enjoying yourselves," cried Rupert. "They would like to take the spirit out of me; have been trying at it a long time." Maude wound her arm within his. "Do come, Rupert!" she whispered coaxingly. "Think of the disturbance if Cris should find you here and tell!" "And tell!" repeated Rupert, mockingly. "_Not_ to tell would be impossible to Cris Chattaway. It's what he'd delight in more than in gold. I wouldn't be the sneak Cris Chattaway is for the world." But Rupert appeared to think it well to depart with his sister. As they were going out, old Canham spoke to George. "And Mrs. Ryle, sir--how does she bear it?" "She bears it very well, Mark," answered George, as the tears rushed to his eyes unbidden. The old man marked them.