nd not to me only,--but to all them that love his
appearing."--My dear,' suddenly to Wych Hazel,--'will you love
his appearing, when it comes?'

She?--how could she tell? to whom not only the question but
almost the very thought were new. He did not pursue that
subject. Presently he left the table and stood up, or walked
up and down behind it; while under the sense of his talk and
his thought and his presence, they were all quiet; finishing
their supper as docilely as so many children. And a reflection
from him was on all their faces, making each one more pure and
bright than its own wont.

He stayed with the young people after tea, instead of going to
his study; and the evening was full of grave interest, which
also no one wished less grave. He talked much, sometimes with
Wych Hazel, sometimes with Rollo; and Rollo was very amusing
and interesting in meeting his inquiries and remarks about
German universities and university life. The talk flowed on to
other people and things abroad, where Rollo had for some years
lately been. The doctor grew animated and drew him out, and
every now and then drew Wych Hazel in, giving her much of his
attention and perhaps scrutiny also, though that was veiled.

The talk kept them up late. As they were about separating for
the night Rollo asked Wych Hazel if she had found any cats at
Chickaree?

'What do you mean?' she said quickly. 'O--I remember'--and the
light danced over her face. 'I haven't had much time to find
anything. What did you do with my poor kitten up on the
mountain, Mr. Rollo?'

'I was going to ask you whether you would like to see an old
friend.'

'Yes, to be sure. You do not mean that my little pussy is
here?'

'You shall have her to-morrow.'

CHAPTER XIII.

THE GREY COB.

Morning has come, and the Queen of Chickaree must return to
hold her court. Little guesses the Queen what a court is
gathering for her. While she is quietly eating her breakfast
at Dr. Maryland's, Mme. Lasalle is ordering her horses, to
make a call upon her in the course of the morning, and Mr.
Kingsland is thinking in what cravat he shall adorn himself
when he goes to do the same thing in the afternoon. For Mr.
Kingsland has arrived at home, where he and his old father
keep a bachelor sort of household in a decayed old house at
one extremity of Crocus. They have a respectable name, folks
say, but not wealth to set it off; and the household is small.
The same little boy who rubs