ox?" he repeated. "Any relation of George Lenox?"

"Oh yes, sir: I am his daughter," cried Georgy, blushing and dimpling.
"I am third cousin to your little girl: Mr. Raymond at The Headlands is
my great-uncle."

"Yes, of course. How is your father?"

"Papa is pretty well."

"He was first cousin of my wife," said Mr. Floyd, "and I have met him, I
believe."

The door-bell rang again.

"That is Antonio Thorpe," observed Mr. Floyd--"a young friend of mine
for whom I want to get board and lodging in Belfield. Can any of you
recommend a place? He is a lad of eighteen or nineteen, and will
probably study under your own masters."

"Mamma would be very glad to have a boarder," struck in Georgy
earnestly. "There is a nice large room for him."

I ushered in the new-comer, a slim fellow of my own height, but looking
immeasurably older, with a delicate black moustache and a coat which
fitted in a way to shame anything in Belfield.

"Well, well, Tony!" said Mr. Floyd: "you followed quickly upon my
footsteps; but all the better, perhaps, as I have already heard of a
suitable place for you to settle. This young lady, Miss Lenox, thinks
her mother may be able to accommodate you: perhaps she will be good
enough to take you home now and introduce you, referring her family to
me."

Thorpe bowed with a very finished air, and presently was walking off in
the rain with Georgy, holding his umbrella over her in a manner truly
Grandisonian. Harry and Jack also went away, and I was left alone with
my guardian; for, although I had never seen him since my father's
funeral eight years before, my guardian I knew him to be. He called me
up to him, flung his arm over my shoulder and looked into my eyes. "My
dear boy!" said he in a kind voice, and kissed me on the forehead. "You
remember me a little, don't you?" he asked.

"I remember you now very well: at first it seemed all gone from me."

"No wonder. I have been in Europe eight years. My little girl is ten
years old, and had never seen me since she was the merest baby. She was
afraid of me at first."

But not for long, I was sure of that: nobody, man, woman or child, could
look into his face and not love and trust him.

"I want to see your mother," he exclaimed with a sudden flash of
expression over his tranquil face. "Your mother is all that is left to
me of my youth: I have come back an old man."

I laughed at this, and then we fell to talking of our life in Belfield.
I was not