's wife, she
doesn't say no, but she talks of convenience and spoilt
children--Sandbrook was quite right after all; I would not tell him how
she answered me! Spoilt children to be sure they are, poor things, but
she might recollect they have no mother--such a fuss as she used to make
with poor Lucilla too. Poor Lucilla, she would never have believed that
"dear Caroline" would have no better welcome for her little ones! Spoilt
indeed! A precious deal pleasanter children they are than any of the lot
at Castle Blanch, and better brought up too.'

The good captain's indignation had made away with his consistency, but
Honora did not owe him a grudge for revealing that she was his _pis
aller_, she was prone to respect a man who showed that he despised her,
and she only cared to arrange the details. He was anxious to carry away
his charge at once, since every day of this wear and tear of feeling was
doing incalculable harm, and she undertook to receive the children and
nurse at any time. She would write at once for a house at some warm
watering-place, and take them there as soon as possible, and she offered
to call that afternoon to settle all with Owen.

'Why,' said Captain Charteris, 'I hardly know. One reason I came alone
was, that I believe that little elf of a Cilly has some notion of what is
plotting against her. You can't speak a word but that child catches up,
and she will not let her father out of her sight for a moment.'

'Then what is to be done? I would propose his coming here; but the poor
child would not let him go.'

'That is the only chance. He has been forbidden the walking with them in
his arms to put them to sleep, and we've got the boy into the nursery,
and he'd better be out of the house than hear them roaring for him. So
if you have no objection, and he is tolerable this evening, I would bring
him as soon as they are gone to bed.'

Poor Owen was evidently falling under the management of stronger hands
than his own, and it could only be hoped that it was not too late. His
keeper brought him at a little after eight that evening. There was a
look about him as if, after the last stroke that had befallen him, he
could feel no more, the bitterness of death was past, his very hands
looked woe-begone and astray, without the little fingers pressing them.
He could not talk at first; he shook Honor's hand as if he could not bear
to be grateful to her, and only the hardest hearts could have endured t