e would often rush in after her two mistresses were
shut up for the evening, scold Charlotte for her want of method, and
finish all that was left undone, while Charlotte went up to the nursery
to release her mistress. As to novels and sentiment, they had gone
after Sir Hubert; and though Charlotte was what Martha expressively
called 'fairly run off her feet,' she had never looked better nor
happier. Her mistress treated her like a friend; she doted on the
children, and the cook was out of the kitchen; Delaford was off her
mind, and neither stairs nor even knife-cleaning could hurt her
feelings. To be sure, her subordinate, a raw girl from Marksgedge,
devoured all that was set before her, and what was not eatable, she
broke; but as she had been sent from home with no injunctions but to
'look sharp and get stout,' so she was only fulfilling her vocation,
and on some question of beer, her mother came and raved at Charlotte,
and would have raved at Mrs. Frost, if her dignified presence had not
overawed her. So she only took the girl away in offence, and Charlotte
was much happier with an occasional charwoman to share her labours.

There was much happiness in No. 5, notwithstanding that the spring and
summer of 1851 were very hard times; and perhaps felt the more, because
the sunny presence of Louis Fitzjocelyn did not shine there as usual.

He was detained in London all the Easter recess by his father's
illness. Lord Ormersfield was bound hand and foot by a severe attack
of rheumatism, caught almost immediately after his going to London. It
seemed to have taken a strong hold of his constitution, and lingered on
for weeks, so that he could barely move from his armchair by the fire,
and began to give himself up as henceforth to be a crippled old man--a
view out of which Louis and Sir Miles Oakstead tried by turns to laugh
him; indeed, Sir Miles accused him of wanting to continue his monopoly
of his son--and of that doubly-devoted attention by which Louis
enlivened his convalescence.

Society had very little chance with Fitzjocelyn now, unless he was
fairly hunted out by the Earl, who was always haunted by ungrounded
alarms for his health and spirits, and never allowed him to fail in the
morning rides, which were in fact his great refreshment, as much from
the quiet and the change of scene, as from the mere air and exercise.

'Father,' said he, coming in one day a little after Easter, 'you are a
very wise man!'

'Eh!