left round the corner?--whom,
perchance, you may care rather to see than me."

"Prithee bring whom thou wilt, David; there shall be an hearty welcome
for him."

"Well, I rather guess there will be," said David, as he walked out of
the parlour. "Dear heart, but who is talking fast enough to shame a
race-horse?"

"Well, now, you don't say so!" was what met David's ear as he unlatched
the gate of the White Bear. "And you've come from Camberwell, you say?
Well, that's a good bit o' walking, and I dare be bound you're weary.
I'd--"

"I cry you mercy,--Cumberland," said a silvery voice in amused tones.

"Dear heart! why, that's a hundred mile off or more, isn't it? And how
many days did it take you?--and how did you come--o' horseback?--and be
the roads very miry?--and how many of you be there?--and what kin are
you to my Lady Lettice, now? and how long look you to tarry with her?"

"My mistress," said David, doffing his hat, "an't like you, I am a
lawyer; and to-morrow morning, at nine o'clock, if you desire it, will I
be at your service in the witness-box, for two shillings the week and my
diet. For to-night, I wish you good even."

"Lack-a-daisy!" was all that Mrs Abbott could utter, as David rescued
the owner of the silvery voice, and bore her off, laughing, to the White
Bear.

"Madam, and my mistresses," he said, as he threw open the door, "I have
the honour to announce the most excellent Mistress Milisent Lewthwaite."

Tears and laughter were mixed for more than one present, as Milisent
flew into her mother's arms, and then gave a fervent hug to her sister
Edith.

"I would come with Robin!" she cried. "It feels like a whole age since
I saw one of you!"

"My dear heart, such a journey!" said her mother. "And where is the
dear Robin, then?"

"Oh, he shall be here anon. He tarried but to see to the horses, and
such like; and I set off with Davie--I felt as though I could not bear
another minute."

"Madam, I give you to wit," said David, with fun in his eyes, "this
mother of mine, that had not seen me for an whole year, spake but three
words to me--`How fare you, my boy?' `Help me to 'light,' and `Now let
us be off to Westminster.'"

"Well, I had seen thee in a year," answered Milisent, echoing his laugh,
"and them not for three years, less a month."

A little soft echoing laugh came from Lady Louvaine.

"Shall I tell thee, my dear heart, what I think Aunt Joyce should say to
thee? `Well done