ed by the silence, he rose with his wig
awry, and trotted--he always trotted when he was tipsy--home to his
wife.

CHAPTER VI. MRS. FALCONER.

Meantime Robert was seated in the parlour at the little dark mahogany
table, in which the lamp, shaded towards his grandmother's side, shone
brilliantly reflected. Her face being thus hidden both by the light and
the shadow, he could not observe the keen look of stern benevolence with
which, knowing that he could not see her, she regarded him as he ate
his thick oat-cake of Betty's skilled manufacture, well loaded with the
sweetest butter, and drank the tea which she had poured out and sugared
for him with liberal hand. It was a comfortable little room, though its
inlaid mahogany chairs and ancient sofa, covered with horsehair, had a
certain look of hardness, no doubt. A shepherdess and lamb, worked in
silks whose brilliance had now faded half-way to neutrality, hung in
a black frame, with brass rosettes at the corners, over the
chimney-piece--the sole approach to the luxury of art in the homely
little place. Besides the muslin stretched across the lower part of the
window, it was undefended by curtains. There was no cat in the room, nor
was there one in the kitchen even; for Mrs. Falconer had such a respect
for humanity that she grudged every morsel consumed by the lower
creation. She sat in one of the arm-chairs belonging to the hairy set,
leaning back in contemplation of her grandson, as she took her tea.

She was a handsome old lady--little, but had once been taller, for she
was more than seventy now. She wore a plain cap of muslin, lying close
to her face, and bordered a little way from the edge with a broad black
ribbon, which went round her face, and then, turning at right angles,
went round the back of her neck. Her gray hair peeped a little way from
under this cap. A clear but short-sighted eye of a light hazel shone
under a smooth thoughtful forehead; a straight and well-elevated, but
rather short nose, which left the firm upper lip long and capable of
expressing a world of dignified offence, rose over a well-formed mouth,
revealing more moral than temperamental sweetness; while the chin was
rather deficient than otherwise, and took little share in indicating the
remarkable character possessed by the old lady.

After gazing at Robert for some time, she took a piece of oat-cake from
a plate by her side, the only luxury in which she indulged, for it
was made wit