y he had learnt
practically to despise the accidental and nominal differences which
separate man from man.

VOLUME ONE, CHAPTER TWO.

A NEW HOME.

Life hath its May, and all is joyous then
The woods are vocal, and the flowers breathe odour,
The very breeze hath mirth in't.
_Old Play_.

AT last the longed-for yet dreaded day approached, and a letter informed
the Trevors that Mr and Mrs Williams would arrive at Southampton on
5th July, and would probably reach Ayrton the evening after. They
particularly requested that no one should come to meet them on their
landing. "We shall reach Southampton," wrote Mrs Williams, "tired,
pale, and travel-stained, and had much rather see you first at Fairholm,
where we shall be spared the painful constraint of a meeting in public.
So please expect our arrival at about seven in the evening."

Poor Eric! although he had been longing for the time ever since the news
came, yet now he was too agitated for enjoyment. Exertion and
expectation made him restless, and he could settle down to nothing all
day, every hour of which hung most heavily on his hands.

At last the afternoon wore away, and a soft summer evening filled the
sky with its gorgeous calm. Far-off they caught the sound of wheels; a
carriage dashed up to the door, and the next moment Eric sprang into his
mother's arms.

"O mother! mother!"

"My own darling, darling boy!"

And as the pale sweet face of the mother met the bright and rosy
child-face, each of them was wet with a rush of unbidden tears. In
another moment Eric had been folded to his father's heart, and locked in
the arms of his little brother Vernon. Who shall describe the emotions
of those few moments? they did not seem like earthly moments; they
seemed to belong not to time, but to eternity.

The first evening of such a scene is too excited to be happy. The
little party at Fairholm retired early, and Eric was soon fast asleep
with his arm round his new-found brother's neck.

Quiet steps entered the chamber, and noiselessly the father and mother
sat down by the bedside of their children. Earth could have shown no
scene more perfect in its beauty than that which met their eyes. The
pure moonlight flooded the little room, and showed distinctly the forms
and countenances of the sleepers, whose soft regular breathing was the
only sound that broke the stillness of the July night. The small
shining flower-like faces, with their fair hair