ero as on a plane with these.

But perhaps he was wrong, he was growing hard-hearted? Contact with the
very poor, and with material misery, was apt to blunt sympathy with
sorrows of another nature. "I daresay you are right, Emily," he said
candidly; for once convicted, no one was swifter to acknowledge a fault.
"I had not looked upon it in that light. Yes, it is certainly very sad
about Leonore, poor thing."

"People say it is a blessing she does not come back poor and dependent;"
thus encouraged, Emily proceeded with gusto, "for we all know the
general."

"Aye, that we do. So Leonore is rich?" and he obviously pondered on the
idea.

"My dear brother," Emily laughed, but the laugh was full of affection,
"now what is to come first? The Christmas coals, or the Old Folks'
Dinner, or----?"

"Peggy Farmiloe," said he, succinctly. "Her needs at the present time
are paramount. The rest can wait."

"So you will call on Leonore?"

"I shall make a point of doing so--presently."

"You will have to get at her when she is alone, you know. It would be no
good making it a topic of general conversation."

"I shall be as wise as the serpent, Emily," the good man permitted
himself an appreciative sally. "Perhaps I shall not even introduce the
subject at all on a first call, eh? It might not be in good taste--not
that one should heed that. But if my clumsiness were to prejudice the
cause--oh, I must certainly beware of clumsiness. Let me see, to-day is
Thursday," and out came the note-book; and after due consideration
Monday was fixed upon, whereupon Mr. Custance rose briskly.

"You may depend upon it, I shall go to the Abbey on Monday. And if this
poor little widow's heart is in the right place----" a glance shot from
his eye.

He foresaw sacks of coal and piles of blankets. He fed and he clothed.
He distributed the older Farmiloe orphans hither and thither, and
gathered the little ones together under his wing, which, weak before,
would now be strong to shelter and support. The Barnaby lad should have
better nursing and an easier couch. There was the old couple at the
disused toll-gate too. It was a blissful dream; and it is sad to
think--but we will not anticipate.

At Claymount Hall, the theme was treated from another point of view.
Here dwelt a very fine old lady with a youthful grandson, of whom it may
be briefly said that the neighbourhood thought Valentine Purcell a fool,
and that Val himself was very much of its op