y anxious about poor Anne," she answered. "But
winter is a trying season, and we hope, in the spring"--

"Yes, in the spring," repeated Uncle Brian, hastily. "What a gay garden
you have for Christmas." He opened the glass door, and immediately
went out. They saw him walking about, backwards and forwards, among
chrysanthemum beds and arbutus-trees, passing hurriedly, and with a
bent-down, abstracted gaze, which beheld nothing.

"Does he know about her?" said Agatha to her husband. "You said you
would tell him."

"I could not, his mood was too bitter. And there are some things in
which not even I dare break upon the reserve of Uncle Brian. He is as
secret and as proud--as I am."

"Ah, but"--

"I understand that 'but' my child. I know how much both he and I have
often erred."

His wife pressed his hand fondly, to indicate how love had sealed its
kiss of forgiveness upon all things. Nathanael smiled, and continued:

"I found Uncle Brian in such a strange mood at Havre. I dared not speak
of anything just then, but thought the fit time would be when we came
near the Dorset coast, and his heart was softened at the sight of home.
I was walking on deck, pondering how to tell him, when the fire began."

"Ah, don't." And Agatha forgot everything--it was natural she should--in
rejoicing once more over the beloved saved. Suddenly, there was heard
a fluttering, and a chattering with Dorcas in the hall, marking an
unmistakable approach--Mrs. Dugdale with her young flock.

Harrie was in the best of spirits and heartiest of moods, though that
may be an unnecessary superlative regarding a lady who had never been
seen either moody or out of spirits since her cradle. She embraced
Agatha warmly, and even went through the same ceremony with her brother
Nathanael, which he bore with exemplary fortitude, but shook his hair
after it, like a boy who has been petted against his will. However, he
kissed his little nephews good-humouredly, let Brian sit astride on
his sofa-pillows, benignly assured Fred's inquiring mind that Uncle
Nathanael had not been to the bottom of the sea and up again--and
answered Gus with a more serious voice, that it was not exactly "funny"
to be drowned.

"Funny? No, indeed," exclaimed the mother. "I am sure the shock was
dreadful to us all. I don't know when _I_ shall get over it And that
reminds me that Duke thinks it had been too much for poor Anne. She is
worse,--keeping her bed. I don't understand sick pe