he had again become. 'Master Oliver,' said she, 'he
is come. Master Jem is come back, and 'twould do your heart good to
see how happy the children are together--just like you and poor Master
Henry.'

'Did she ask him here?' said Mr. Dynevor, uneasily.

'No, sir, he came right out of his own head, because he thought she
would feel lost.'

Oliver vouchsafed no reply, and Jane pressed no farther. He never
alluded to his guest; but when Clara came into the room, his eye dwelt
on her countenance of bright content and animation, and the smiles that
played round her lips as she sat silent. Her voice was hushed in the
sick-room, but he heard it about the house with the blithe, lively ring
that had been absent from it since he carried her away from Northwold;
and her steps danced upstairs, and along the galleries, with the light,
bounding tread unknown to the constrained, dignified Miss Dynevor. Ah
the notice he took that night was to say, petulantly, when Clara was
sitting with him, 'Don't stay here; you want to be down-stairs.'

'Oh, no, dear uncle, I am come to stay with you. I don't want, in the
least, to be anywhere but here.'

He seemed pleased, although he growled; and next morning Jane reported
that he had been asking for how long his nephew had come, and saying he
was glad that Miss Dynevor had someone to look after her--a sufferance
beyond expectation. In his helpless state, Jane had resumed her
nursery relations with him; and he talked matters over with her so
freely that it was well that the two young people were scarcely less
her children, and had almost an equal share of her affection, so that
Clara felt that matters might be safely trusted in her hands.

Clara's felicity could hardly be described, with her fond affections
satisfied by her brother's presence, and her fears of managing ill,
removed by reliance on him; and many as were the remaining cases, and
great as was the suspense lest her uncle should still nourish
resentment, nothing could overcome the sense of restored joy ever
bubbling up, not even the dread that James might not bear patiently
with continued rebuffs. But James was so much more gentle and tolerant
than she had ever known him, that at first she could not understand
missing the retort, the satire, the censure which had seemed an
essential part of her brother. She was always instinctively guarding
against what never happened, or if some slight demonstration flashed
out, he caugh