t on her Aunt Edith's knee,
saying "she should say all her life that she had sat in my Lord
Dilston's earache." Then Milisent came in herself and sat down for a
moment between her mother and Faith, whilst her husband talked with
Aubrey, and all the children crowded about Hans, always a favourite with
children. After a few minutes' conversation, Robert came up to the
coach-door with--"Time to go, Milly. We must not tarry Mother on her
journey, for she is like to be weary enough ere she come to its end."

Then Milisent broke down, and threw her arms around her mother, and
cried,--"O Mother, Mother, how shall I do without you? Must I never see
you again?"

"My Milisent," said Lady Louvaine, "I shall not carry God from thee.
And thou wilt surely see me again, sweet heart, where we shall part no
more for ever."

For a few minutes Milisent wept as if her heart would break; then she
wiped her eyes, and kissed them all round, only breaking down a little
again when she came to her sister Edith.

"O Edith, darling sister, I never loved thee half well enough!"

Edith was calm now. "Send me the other half in thy letters, Milly," she
replied, "and I will return it to thee."

"Ay, we can write betimes," said Milisent, looking a little comforted.
Then to her niece,--"Now, Lettice, I look to thee for all the news. The
first day of every month shall we begin to look out for a letter at Mere
Lea; and if my sister cannot write, then must thou. Have a care!"

"So I will, Aunt," said Lettice.

Milisent alighted with a rather brighter look--she was not wont to look
any thing but bright--Robert took his leave and then came all the
cousins pouring in to say good-bye. So the farewells were spoken, and
they went on their journey; but as far as they could see until hidden by
the hill round which they drove, Milisent's handkerchief was waving
after them.

Lady Louvaine bore the journey better than her daughters had feared; and
our friends deemed themselves very happy that during the whole of it,
they were not once overturned, and only four times stuck in the mud. At
the end of the fourth day, which was Friday, they came up to the door of
the Hill House at Minster Lovel. And as they lumbered round the sweep
with their six horses, Edith cried joyously,--"Oh, there's old Rebecca!"

To Edith Louvaine, a visit to the Hill House was in a sense coming home,
for its owner, her father's cousin, Joyce Morrell, had been to her
almost a