y lifted him up the steps into the hall, where he signed to be laid
down on the seat of the cool north window, and trying to smile, said
'it was only the hot sun, and his foot aching _rather_; it would soon
go off.' And when, with much pain and difficulty, Frampton had
released his swollen foot from the regulation-boot, into which he had
foolishly thrust it, he went on more fluently. 'He had thought it his
duty, especially when Mr. Shaw, the captain of his troop, had chosen to
go away--he had believed it could do no harm--he was sure it was only a
little present discomfort, and in the present crisis--'

He addressed his aunt, but his eyes were on his father; and when he
heard not a single word from him, he suddenly ceased, and presently,
laying his head down on the window-sill, he begged that no one would
stand and watch him, he should come into the library in a few minutes.

The few minutes lasted, however, till near dinnertime, when he called
to Mary, as she was coming downstairs, and asked her to help him into
the library; he could remain no longer exposed to Frampton's pity, as
dinner went in.

He dragged himself along with more difficulty than he had found for
weeks, and sank down on the sofa with a sigh of exhaustion; while
Clara, who was alone in the room, reared herself up from an easy-chair,
where she had been sitting in an attitude that would have been despair
to her mistress.

'Ha, Clara!' said Louis, presently; 'you look as if you had been the
object of invective?'

'I don't care,' exclaimed Clara, 'I know you were in the good old
cause.'

'Conde at Jarnac, Charles XII. at Pultowa--which?' said Louis. 'I
thought of both myself--only, unluckily, I made such frightful
blunders. I was thankful to my men for bringing me off, like other
great commanders.'

'Oh, Louis! but at least you were in your place--you set the example.'

'Unluckily, these things descend from the sublime to the other thing,
when one is done up, and beginning to doubt whether self-will cannot
sometimes wear a mask.'

'I'm sure they are all quite cross enough to you already, without your
being cross to yourself.'

'An ingenious and elegant impersonal,' said Louis.

Clara rushed out into the garden to tell the stiff old rose-trees that
if Lord Ormersfield were savage now, he would be more horrid than ever.

Meanwhile, Louis drew a long sigh, murmuring, 'Have I gone and vexed
him again? Mary, have I been very silly?'

The