bove Castellamare.

CHAPTER XVII.

AT HOME.

Another sunset, red and gorgeous, over swelling English meadows, waving
trees, and grassy terrace, lighting up with its crimson radiance the
gray forest of Thetford Towers.

In the pretty, airy summer drawing-room, this red sunset streams through
open western windows, kindling everything into living light. It falls on
the bright-haired girlish figure, dressed in floating white, seated in
an arm-chair in the centre of the room, too childish-looking, you might
fancy, at first sight, to be mamma to that fat baby she holds in her
lap; but she is not a bit too childish. And that is papa, tall and
handsome, and happy, who leans over the chair and looks as men do look
on what is the apple of their eye, and the pride of their heart.

"It's high time baby was christened, Guy," Lady Thetford--for, of
course, Lady Thetford it is--was saying; "and, do you know, I am really
at a loss for a name. You won't let me call him Guy, and I sha'n't call
him Noel--and so what is it to be?"

"Rupert, of course," Sir Guy suggests; and little Lady Thetford pouts.

"He does not deserve the compliment. Shabby fellow! To keep wandering
about the world as he does, and never to answer one's letters; and I
sent him half a ream last time, if I sent him a sheet, telling all
about baby, and asking him to come and be godfather, and coaxing him
with the eloquence of a female Demos--, the man in the tub you know. And
to think it should be all of no use! To think of not receiving a line in
return. It is using me shamefully; and I don't believe I will call baby
Rupert."

"Oh, yes you will, my dear! Well, Smithers, what is it?"

For Mr. Smithers, the butler, stood in the doorway, with a very pale and
startled face.

"It's a gentleman--leastways a lady--leastways a lady and gentleman. Oh!
here they come theirselves!"

Mr. Smithers retired precipitately, still pale and startled of visage,
as a gentleman, with a lady on his arm, stood before Sir Guy and Lady
Thetford.

There was a half shout from the young baronet, a wild shriek from the
young lady. She sprung to her feet, and nearly dropped the precious
baby.

"Rupert! Aileen!"

She never got any further--this impetuous little Lady Thetford, for she
was kissing first one, then the other, crying and laughing, and talking
all in a breath.

"Oh! what a surprise this is! Rupert my dear, my dear, I'm so glad to
see you again! O Aileen! I never,