"I was thankful for one thing, Val; that you did not betray anger to
them, poor little things. It would have made it worse."

"I was on the point of betraying something more than anger to Edward; but
the thought that I should be punishing him for another's fault checked
me. I wonder how we can get rid of her?"

"We must strive to please her while she stays."

"Please her!" he echoed. "Anne, my dear, that is stretching Christian
charity rather too far."

Anne smiled. "I am a clergyman's daughter, you know, Val."

"If she is wise, she'll abstain from offending you in my presence. I'm
not sure but I should lose command of myself, and send her off there and
then."

"I don't fear that. She was quite civil when we came up from dinner,
and--"

"As she generally is then. She takes her share of wine."

"And asked me if I would excuse her falling into a doze, for she never
felt well without it."

Anne was right. The cunning old woman changed her tactics, finding those
she had started would not answer. It has been remarked before, if you
remember, that she knew particularly well on which side her bread was
buttered. Nothing could exceed her graciousness from that evening. The
past scene might have been a dream, for all traces that remained of it.
Out of the house she was determined not to go in anger; it was too
desirable a refuge for that. And on the following day, upon hearing
Edward attempt some impudent speech to his new mother, she put him across
her knee, pulled off an old slipper she was wearing, and gave him a
whipping. Anne interposed, the boy roared; but the good woman had
her way.

"Don't put yourself out, dear Lady Hartledon. There's nothing so good
for them as a wholesome whipping. I used to try it on my own children
at times."

CHAPTER XXXIV.

MR. PIKE ON THE WING.

The time went on. It may have been some twelve or thirteen months later
that Mr. Carr, sitting alone in his chambers, one evening, was surprised
by the entrance of his clerk--who possessed a latch-key as well as
himself.

"Why, Taylor! what brings you here?"

"I thought you would most likely be in, sir," replied the clerk. "Do
you remember some few years ago making inquiries about a man named
Gorton--and you could not find him?"

"And never have found him," was Mr. Carr's comment. "Well?"

"I have seen him this evening. He is back in London."

Thomas Carr was not a man to be startlingly affected by any
communication; nev