etters, so much as a matter of course, that
Ethel complied with his gesture, and he composedly pocketed them, while
she felt desperately guilty. Mary's own entrance would have excited no
compunction, Ethel would have said that Tom wanted to hear of the
voyage; but in the present case, she could only blush, conscious that
the guest recognized her sister's property, and was wondering what
business she had with it, and she was unwilling to explain, not only on
Tom's account, but because she knew that Mr. Cheviot greatly
disapproved of petitioning against the remission of capital sentences,
and thought her father under a delusion.

After Tom's departure the next day, she found the letters in her
work-basket, and restored them to Mary, laughing over Mr. Cheviot's
evident resentment at the detection of her doings.

'I think it looked rather funny,' said Mary.

'I beg your pardon,' said Ethel, much astonished; 'but I thought, as
every one else had seen them--'

'Tom always laughed at poor Ave.'

'He is very different now; but indeed, Mary, I am sorry, since you did
not like it.'

'Oh!' cried Mary, discomfited by Ethel's apology, 'indeed I did not
mean that, I wish I had not said anything. You know you are welcome to
do what you please with all I have. Only,' she recurred, 'you can't
wonder that Mr. Cheviot thought it funny.'

'If he had any call to think at all,' said Ethel, who was one of those
who thought that Charles Cheviot had put a liberal interpretation on
Dr. May's welcome to Stoneborough. He had arrived after the summer
holidays as second master of the school, and at Christmas was to
succeed Dr. Hoxton, who had been absolutely frightened from his chair
by the commissions of inquiry that had beset the Whichcote foundation;
and in compensation was at present perched on the highest niche sacred
to conservative martyrdom in Dr. May's loyal heart.

Charles Cheviot was a very superior man, who had great influence with
young boys, and was admirably fitted to bring about the much required
reformation in the school. He came frequently to discuss his
intentions with Dr. May, and his conversation was well worth being
listened to; but even the Doctor found three evenings in a week a large
allowance for good sense and good behaviour--the evenings treated as
inviolable even by old friends like Dr. Spencer and Mr. Wilmot, the
fast waning evenings of Aubrey's home life.

The rest were reduced to silence, chess, books,