hose to return to
the inn at Bickleypool. He would call for Louis to-morrow, to take him
for a formal call at Beauchastel; and the day after they would go
together to Oakstead, leaving James to return home, about ten days
sooner than had been previously concerted.

Lord Ormersfield had not been gone ten minutes, before James's quick
bounding tread was heard far along the dry woodland paths. He vaulted
over the gate, and entered by the open window, exclaiming, as he did
so, 'Hurrah! The deed is done; the letter is off to engage the House
Beautiful.'

'Doom is doom!' were the first words that occurred to Louis. 'The lion
and the prince.'

'What's that?'

'There was once a king,' began Louis, as if the tale were the newest in
the world, 'whose son was predestined to be killed by a lion. After
much consideration, his majesty enclosed his royal highness in a tower,
warranted wild-beast proof, and forbade the chase to be mentioned in
his hearing. The result was, that the locked-up prince died of
look-jaw in consequence of tearing his hand with a nail in the picture
of the lion.'

'I shall send that apologue straight to Ormersfield.'

'You may spare that trouble. My father has been with me all the
evening.'

'Oh! his double-ganger visits you. That accounts for your freaks.'

'Double-gangers seldom come in yellow-bodied flys.'

'His lordship in propria persona. You don't mean it.'

'He is sleeping at the 'George' at Bickleypool. There is a letter
coming to-morrow by the post, to say he is coming to-day, with every
imaginable civility to you; but I am to go to the rose-coloured
pastor's with him on Wednesday.'

'So there's an end of our peace and comfort!'

'I am afraid we have sadly discomposed his peace.'

'Did you discover whether his warnings have the slightest foundation?'

'He told me a history that somewhat accounts for his distrust of my
aunt. I think there must be another side to it, and nothing can be
more unjust than to condemn all the family, but it affected him so
exceedingly that I do not wonder at his doing so. He gave no names,
but I am sure it touched him very nearly. Can you tell who it could
have been?' And he narrated enough to make James exclaim, 'It ought to
touch him nearly. He was talking of himself.'

'Impossible!--my mother!' cried Louis, leaping up.

'Yes--his own version of his married life.'

'How do you know? You cannot remember it,' said Louis, though too well
c