aid Mary. "You're safe from Richard Bassett now.
Times are changed since he came spying to my gate. His own boy is gone.
You have got two. He'll lie still if you do. But if you tell your tale,
he must hear on't, and he'll tell his. For God's sake, my lady, keep
close. It is the curse of women that they can't just hold their
tongues, and see how things turn. And is this a time to spill good
liquor? Look at Sir Charles! why, he is another man; he have got flesh
on his bones now, and color into his cheeks, and 'twas you and I made a
man of him. It is my belief you'd never have had this other little
angel but for us having sense and courage to see what _must_ be done.
Knock down our own work, and send him wild again, and give that Richard
Bassett a handle? You'll never be so mad."

Lady Bassett replied. The other answered; and so powerfully that Lady
Bassett yielded, and went home sick at heart, but helpless, and in a
sea of doubt.

Mr. Angelo did not call. Sir Charles asked Lady Bassett if he had
called on her.

She said "No."

"That is odd," said Sir Charles. "Perhaps he thinks we ought to welcome
him home. Write and ask him to dinner."

"Yes, dear. Or you can write."

"Very well, I will. No, I will call."

Sir Charles called, and welcomed him home, and asked him to dinner.
Angelo received him rather stiffly at first, but accepted his
invitation.

He came, looking a good deal older and graver, but almost as handsome
as ever; only somewhat changed in mind. He had become a zealous
clergyman, and his soul appeared to be in his work. He was distant and
very respectful to Lady Bassett; I might say obsequious. Seemed almost
afraid of her at first.

That wore off in a few months; but he was never quite so much at his
ease with her as he had been before he left some years ago.

And so did time roll on.

Every morning and every night Lady Bassett used to look wistfully at
Sir Charles, and say--

"Are you happy, dear? Are you sure you are happy?"

And he used always to say, and with truth, that he was the happiest man
in England, thanks to her.

Then she used to relax the wild and wistful look with which she asked
the question, and give a sort of sigh, half content, half resignation.

In due course another fine boy came, and filled the royal office of
baby in his turn.

But my story does not follow him.

Reginald was over ten years old, and Compton nearly six. They were as
different in character as c