was seated very desolately by the open window. She had detected that
something of an anxious and painful nature had been weighing upon the
minds of father and son, and had connected it with the letter which had
so disturbed the even mind of Sir Peter; but she did not divine what the
something was, and if mortified by a certain reserve, more distant than
heretofore, which had characterized Kenelm's manner towards herself,
the mortification was less sensibly felt than a tender sympathy for the
sadness she had observed on his face and yearned to soothe. His reserve
had, however, made her own manner more reserved than of old, for which
she was now rather chiding herself than reproaching him.

Lady Glenalvon put her arms round Cecilia's neck and kissed her,
whispering, "That man has so disappointed me: he is so unworthy of the
happiness I had once hoped for him!"

"Whom do you speak of?" murmured Cecilia, turning very pale.

"Kenelm Chillingly. It seems that he has conceived a fancy for some
penniless girl whom he has met in his wanderings, has come here to
get the consent of his parents to propose to her, has obtained their
consent, and is gone to propose."

Cecilia remained silent for a moment with her eyes closed, then she
said, "He is worthy of all happiness, and he would never make an
unworthy choice. Heaven bless him--and--and--" She would have added,
"his bride," but her lips refused to utter the word bride.

"Cousin Gordon is worth ten of him," cried Lady Glenalvon, indignantly.

She had served Kenelm, but she had not forgiven him.

CHAPTER V.

KENELM slept in London that night, and, the next day, being singularly
fine for an English summer, he resolved to go to Moleswich on foot. He
had no need this time to encumber himself with a knapsack; he had left
sufficient change of dress in his lodgings at Cromwell Lodge.

It was towards the evening when he found himself in one of the prettiest
rural villages by which

"Wanders the hoary Thames along
His silver-winding way."

It was not in the direct road from London to Moleswich, but it was a
pleasanter way for a pedestrian. And when, quitting the long street of
the sultry village, he came to the shelving margin of the river, he was
glad to rest a while, enjoy the cool of the rippling waters, and listen
to their placid murmurs amid the rushes in the bordering shallows. He
had ample time before him. His rambles while at Cromwell Lodge had made
him