gave the
idea of present suffering rather than abiding illness. He seemed to her
like a stranger, till at her step he looked up, and his dark gray eyes
were all himself as he held out his hand and fondly spoke her name. She
hung over him, restraining her exclamations with strong force; and even
in the midst of her embrace he was saying, 'Honor! Is Honor here?'

Trembling with emotion, Honor bent to kiss his brow, and felt his arm
thrown about her neck, and the hairy lips kissing either cheek just as
when, smooth and babyish, they had sought her motherly caress. 'May I
come home?' he asked. 'They brought me without your leave!'

'And you could not feel sure of your Sweet Honey's welcome?'

He smiled his old smile of fondness, but dimmed by pain and languor; and
the heavy lids sank over his eyes, but to be at once raised. 'Lucy!
Home, Honor! It is all I wanted,' he said; 'you will be good to me, such
as I am.'

'We will sit close to you, my dear; only you cannot talk--you must rest.'

'Yes. My head is very bad--my eyes ache,' he said, turning his head from
the light, with closed eyes, and hand over them; but then he added--'One
thing first--where is he?'

'Your little boy?' said Lucilla. 'Do you wish to see him? I will call
him.'

'No, no, I could not;' and his brow contracted with pain. 'No! but did
not I tell you all about him--your cousin, Honor? Do pull the curtain
round, the light hurts me!'

Convinced that his mind was astray, there was no attempt at answering
him; and all were so entirely occupied with his comforts, that Phoebe saw
and heard no one until Robert came down, telling her that Owen had, in
fact, improved much on the voyage, but that the long day's journey by
train had brought on such severe and exhausting pain in the head, that he
could scarcely speak or look up, and fatigue seemed to have confused the
faculties that in the morning had been quite clear. Robert was obliged
to go to his seven o'clock service, and Phoebe would fain have come with
him, but he thought she might be useful at home.

'Miss Charlecote is so much absorbed in Owen,' he said, 'that I do not
think she heard a word about that young Randolf. Mr. Currie is gone to
spend to-morrow and Sunday with his father at Birmingham, but he let me
have this young man to help to bring Owen home. Make Miss Charlecote
understand that he is to sleep at my place. I will come back for him,
and he is not to be in her way. He is