This was really the first time since her sorrow that Mrs. Falconer had roused herself to take an interest in anything; but Piers' summons, with the announcement that there was a man in the porch talking to Joyce, and that he knew by the sound of her voice she was frightened, had not been in vain. The maternal love, deep in Mrs. Falconer's heart, asserted itself, and put to flight for the time the selfish brooding over her sorrow, in which for so many weeks she had indulged. "Joyce is very young," she said, tenderly, "and she has been left to bear a burden too heavy for her years. I beg you, sir, to say no more to hurt her and annoy her, but to leave the premises." "My dear madam," Lord Maythorne said, "I came in a friendly spirit to discuss a little business about your elder and very hopeful son. He owes me some eight hundred pounds--a debt of honour, but at the same time a debt;" and, setting his teeth, "_One I mean to have paid!_ It may seem a trifle to the owner of these broad acres, and to the inhabitants of this grand ancestral home, but to me it happens to be no trifle. Good morning." Lord Maythorne turned away, raising his hat to Joyce, and saying: "_Adieu, mia bella! adieu!_ but _au revoir! au revoir!_" Mrs. Falconer pressed Joyce, trembling and frightened to her side, saying, in a low voice: "What does he mean? Who is he?" "He means that Melville has lost money to him by gambling; I think he is Lord Maythorne." "What is to be done? What is to be done, Joyce?" Mrs. Falconer said. "We must consult Mr. Paget, dear mother. Oh! how glad I was when you came; he is such a bold, bad man." "Poor child! Poor Sunshine!" Mrs. Falconer said; "I have been very much to blame to leave you all the burden; I will _try_ to do differently now. Kiss me, Joyce." "And here is a carriage coming up the road," was Piers' next exclamation; "a carriage full of people." "Oh! there is an old gentleman in a wig and shovel hat, and--" "It must be the Bishop," exclaimed Mrs. Falconer; "what shall we do?" It was too late for Mrs. Falconer to retreat, for the carriage had driven up before the door, and the footman had the handle of the bell in his hand. "The Lord Bishop," he said, addressing Piers, "Mrs. Arundel, and Miss Anson. Is Mrs. Falconer at home?" And now Joyce advanced out of the shadow, and stood under the roses by the porch. The late encounter with Lord Maythorne had heightened her colour, and tears were still upon her long lashes--the tears of vexation she had tried so hard to keep back. One glance, and Mrs. Arundel felt sure she saw before her her son's "Joyce, Sunshine, Birdie! for they call her all those names," he had said. She looked just now, with her head drooping, and the traces of tears on her cheeks, very like one of the China roses above her, hanging its head after a shower. Gratian also examined her critically. She is _beautiful_, she thought, but she has no style; while the Bishop leaned forward, and asked: