ted.

'Come, let us go into the hall,' he said quickly; and then he added, in
a lower and agitated voice, 'Vicar, do you think my poor wife
will--will have to kiss this woman? That is what she dreads. That is
what terrifies her.'

The pale-faced clergyman seemed embarrassed, and said hastily,

'There will be some confusion, no doubt. Come, friend King, pull
yourself together. You are welcoming home your son and his
newly-married wife, remember.'

The great bell rang, the servants swarmed into the hall, the door was
opened, and outside, in the darkness, the carriage lamps were visible,
shining down on the broad steps. At the same moment a lady came along
from the corridor; a tall, elderly woman, with a pale, sweet face,
quite white hair done up in old-fashioned little curls, and with eyes
of a sad, benign expression. She seemed to be very pleased and
cheerful; it was only the Vicar, who shook hands with her, who knew
that her whole frame was trembling.

'So you have come to welcome home the bride, Mr. Lynnton,' she said, in
a clear voice, so that every one could hear. 'Alfred will be pleased
to see you again, after his long absence. They say that being so much
abroad has greatly improved him.'

'It could not well improve his appearance, Mrs. King; he was always a
handsome lad,' said the Vicar--his eyes still turned towards the door.

This was, indeed, a strikingly handsome man who now came up the
steps--taller and more massive than his brother Frank, lighter also in
hair and eyes. At this first glance one scarcely noticed that his face
was somewhat flushed, and that the light blue eyes had a sort of
uncertain nervous throb in them.

'My wife, mother.'

The Vicar stared with astonishment. This pretty, bright-faced little
thing did not look more than eighteen or nineteen, though in fact she
was five-and-twenty; and in her tight-fitting ulster and plain gray
hat, and quiet yellow-gray gloves, she looked the very embodiment of
girlish grace, and neatness, and decorum.

The white-haired woman took this new visitor by both hands.

'I am glad you have come, my dear,' said she, without any quaver of the
voice, and she kissed her first on one cheek and then on the other.
'But you must be tired with your long journey. Come, I will show you
your dressing-room; they have taken some tea up for you.'

'And to-night we dine at seven, my dear,' said the father of the house,
addressing her at the same time, 'for