ng in the shop, at the West Gate of
Oxford, was a wholly different youth from my Lord Oxford's gentleman
only a few weeks before.

Three months had passed by, and no further apprehensions were
entertained at the White Bear of any Government inquiries. If Lady
Oxford still felt any, she kept them to herself.

It was a summer evening; Hans had come home, and the little family party
were seated in the parlour, when a summons of Charity to the front door
was followed by her appearance before the ladies.

"Madam," said she, "here's one would have speech of your Ladyship, and
he'll not take a civil nay, neither. I told him he might ha' come i'
daylight, and he said you'd be just as fain of him i' th' dark. He's
none aila [bashful], for sure."

"Well, let him come in, Charity," said Lady Louvaine smiling.

Charity drew back, and admitted a man of about five-and-twenty years,
clad in respectable but not fashionable garments, and with an amused
look in his eyes.

"I do believe your maid thinks I've come to steal the spoons," said he.
"I could scarce win her to let me in. Well, does nobody know me? Don't
you, Grandmother?"

"Why, sure! 'tis never David Lewthwaite?" responded Lady Louvaine in
some excitement.

"'Tis David Lewthwaite, the son of your daughter Milisent," said he,
laughing.

"Why, who was to know you, my boy?" asked his Aunt Edith. "We have not
seen you but once since we came, and you have changed mightily since
then."

"When last we saw you," said Temperance, "your chin was as smooth as the
hearthstone, and now you've got beard enough to fit out a flock of
goats."

"Ah! I'd forgot my beard was new. Well, I have been remiss, I own: but
I will expound another time the reasons why you saw us not oftener.
To-night, methinks, you'll have enough to do to hearken to the cause
which has brought me at last."

"No ill news, David, I trust?" asked his grandmother, growing a shade
paler.

"None, Madam. And yet I come to bring news of death."

"Of whose death?"

"Of the death of Oswald Louvaine, of Selwick Hall."

There was a cry from Edith--"O David, can you possibly mean--is Selwick
come back to us?"

"Oswald Louvaine died unwedded, and hath left no will. His heir-at-law
is my cousin Aubrey here."

"May the Lord help him to use it wisely!" said his grandmother, with
emotion.

"Amen!" said David, heartily. "And now, Madam, as I have not stolen the
spoons, may I let somebody else in, that I