n
careering along on the corridor, astride upon a hearth-broom. She did
not need to be told it was her boy, Archibald; his likeness to Mr.
Carlyle would have proclaimed it, even if her heart had not. In an
impulse of unrestrainable tenderness, she seized the child, as he was
galloping past her, and carried him into her room, broom and all.

"You must let me make acquaintance with you," she said to him by way of
excuse. "I love little boys."

Love! Down she sat upon a low chair, the child held upon her lap,
kissing him passionately, and the tears raining from her eyes. She could
not have helped the tears had it been to save her life; she could as
little have helped the kisses. Lifting her eyes, there stood Wilson, who
had entered without ceremony. A sick feeling came over Lady Isabel: she
felt as if she had betrayed herself. All that could be done now, was to
make the best of it; to offer some lame excuse. What possessed her thus
to forget herself?

"He did so put me in remembrance of my own children," she said to
Wilson, gulping down her emotion, and hiding her tears in the best
manner she could; whilst the astonished Archibald, released now, stood
with his finger in his mouth and stared at her spectacles, his great
blue eyes opened to their utmost width. "When we have lost children of
our own, we are apt to love fondly all we come near."

Wilson, who stared only in a less degree than Archie, for she deemed
the new governess had gone suddenly mad, gave some voluble assent, and
turned her attention upon Archie.

"You naughty young monkey! How dare you rush out in that way with
Sarah's heart-broom? I'll tell you what it is, sir, you are getting a
might deal too owdacious and rumbustical for the nursery. I shall speak
to your mamma about it."

She seized hold of the child and shook him. Lady Isabel started forward,
her hands up, her voice one of painful entreaty.

"Oh, don't, don't beat him! I cannot see him beaten."

"Beaten!" echoed Wilson; "if he got a good beating it would be all the
better for him; but it's what he never does get. A little shake, or a
tap, is all I must give; and it's not half enough. You wouldn't believe
the sturdy impudence of that boy, madame; he runs riot, he does. The
other two never gave a quarter of the trouble. Come along, you figure!
I'll have a bolt put at the top of the nursery door; and if I did, he'd
be for climbing up the door-post to get at it."

The last sentence Wilson deli