thoroughly confirmed. The baby had taken a start, as Sarah called it,
left off unreasonable crying, sat up, laughed and stared about with
a sharp look of inquiry in his dark eyes and tiny thin face, so
ridiculously like his grandfather, Mr. Moss, that his mother could not
help being diverted with the resemblance, except when she tormented
herself with the fear that the likeness was unpleasing to Arthur, if
perchance he remarked it; but he looked so little at the child, that she
often feared he did not care for him personally, though he had a certain
pride in him as son and heir.

Violet herself, though still delicate and requiring care, had recovered
her looks and spirits, and much of her strength, and John walked and
conversed more than he had done for years, did not shrink from the
society of the few families they were acquainted with, and seemed to
have derived as much benefit from his kind scheme as the objects of it.
In fact his hopes and affections were taking a fresh spring--the effects
of his kindness to Arthur and Violet had shown him that he could be
useful to others, and he thus discovered what he had missed in his
indulged life, crossed in but one respect--he saw that he had set
himself aside from family duties, as well as from the more active ones
that his health prohibited, and with a feeling at once of regret and
invigoration, he thought over the course that lay open to him, and soon
began to form plans and discuss them with his ever ready listener. His
foreign winters need no longer be useless, he proposed to go to Barbuda
to look after his mother's estates--indeed, it seemed so obvious
that when he once thought of it he could not imagine why it had never
occurred to him before; it would save his father the voyage, and when
he and Violet began to figure to themselves the good that could be done
there, they grew animated and eager in their castles.

That month sped fast away, and their drives were now last visits to the
places that had charmed them at first. Their work was prepared for Mr.
Fotheringham's inspection, and Violet having copied out her favourite
passages of Helen's book, returned it on the last evening. 'I don't
think I half understand all she says, though I do admire it so much, and
wish I was like it.'

'You will be, you are in the way.'

'You don't know how foolish I am,' said Violet, almost as if he was
disrespectful to Helen.

'Helen was once seventeen,' said John, smiling.

'Oh,