ere is always something troublesome going
on," said Miss Leonora. "I am not surprised to hear of your father's
attack. _My_ father had a great many attacks, and lived to eighty; but
he had few difficulties with the female part of his household," she
continued, with a grim little smile--for Miss Leonora rather piqued
herself upon her exemption from any known sentimental episode, even
in her youth.

"Dear Jack's return will make up for a great deal," said aunt Dora.
"Oh, Frank, my dear, your brother has made us all so happy. He has
just been telling us that he means to give up all his racing and
betting and wickedness; and when he has been with us a little, and
learned to appreciate a domestic circle--" said poor Miss Dora,
putting her handkerchief to her eyes. She was so much overcome that
she could not finish the sentence. But she put her disengaged hand
upon Jack's arm and patted it, and in her heart concluded that as soon
as the blanket was done for Louisa's bassinet, she would work him a
pair of slippers, which should endear more and more to him the
domestic circle, and stimulate the new-born virtue in his repentant
heart.

"I don't know what Jack's return may do," said Mr Wentworth, "but I
hope you don't imagine it was Gerald who caused my father's illness.
_You_ know better, at least," said the indignant Curate, looking at
the hero on the sofa. That interesting reprobate lifted his eyes with
a covert gleam of humour to the unresponsive countenance of his
brother, and then he stroked his silky beard and sighed.

"My dear aunt, Frank is right," said Jack, with a melancholy voice. "I
have not concealed from you that my father has great reason to be
offended with me. I have done very much the reverse of what I ought to
have done. I see even Frank can't forgive me; and I don't wonder at
it," said the prodigal, "though I have done him no harm that I know
of;" and again the heir of the Wentworths sighed, and covered his face
for a moment with his hand.

"Oh, Frank," cried Miss Dora, with streaming eyes--"oh, my dear
boy!--isn't there joy in heaven over one sinner that repenteth? You're
not going to be the wicked elder brother that grudged the prodigal his
welcome--you're not going to give way to jealousy, Frank?"

"Hold your tongue, Dora," said the iron-grey sister; "I daresay Frank
knows a great deal better than you do; but I want to know about
Gerald, and what is to be done. If he goes to Rome, of course you will