er to trip on before him, which she did with a light, hasty foot,
until they neared the little gate of the courtyard belonging to the
house. Then he stepped forward and held the gate open for her to enter,
not saying a word. Dolly passed him with the loveliest shy down-casting
of her eyelids, and went on straight into the house. He saw the bird
was fluttering yet, but he thought he was sure of her.

CHAPTER XXXIV.

UNDER THE SAME OAK.

Dolly threw off her hat and went down to the kitchen premises. Mr.
Shubrick repaired to the sick-room and relieved Mrs. Copley. That lady,
descending to the lower part of the house, found Dolly very busy with
the supper-table, and apparently much flushed with the hot weather.

"Your father's getting well!" she said with a sigh.

"That's good news, I am sure, mother."

"Yes,--it's good news," Mrs. Copley repeated doubtfully; "but it seems
as if everything good in this world had a bad side to it."

Dolly stood still. "What's the matter?" she said.

"Oh, he's so uneasy. As restless end fidgetty as a fish out of water.
He is contented with nothing except when Mr. Shubrick is near him; he
behaves quietly then, at least, however he feels. I believe it takes a
man to manage a man. Though I never saw a man before that could manage
your father. _He_ laughs at it, and says it is the habit of giving
orders."

"Who laughs at it?"

"Mr. Shubrick, to be sure. You don't suppose your father owns to
minding orders? But he does mind, for all that. What will become of us
when that young man goes away?"

"Why, mother?"

"My patience, Dolly! what have you done to heat yourself so! Your face
is all flushed. Do keep away from the fire, or you'll certainly spoil
your complexion. You're all flushed up, child."

"But father,--what about father?"

"Oh, he's just getting ready to take his own head, as soon as Mr.
Shubrick slips the bridle off. He's talking of going up to town
already; and he will go, I know, as soon as he _can_ go; and then,
Dolly, then--I don't know what will become of us!"

Mrs. Copley put her hands over her face, and the last words were spoken
with such an accent of forlorn despair, that Dolly saw her mother must
have found out or divined much that she had tried to keep from her. She
hesitated with her answer. Somehow, the despair and the forlornness had
gone out of Dolly's heart.

"I hope--I think--there will be some help, mother."

"Where is it to come from?" said Mrs.