know what he'll do?" persisted Magdalen. "He'll romp with
the miller's children, and gossip with the mother, and hob-and-nob with
the father. At the last moment when he has got five minutes left to
catch the train, he'll say: 'Let's go into the counting-house and
look at the books.' He'll find the books dreadfully complicated; he'll
suggest sending for an accountant; he'll settle the business off hand,
by lending the money in the meantime; he'll jog back comfortably in the
miller's gig; and he'll tell us all how pleasant the lanes were in the
cool of the evening."

The little character-sketch which these words drew was too faithful a
likeness not to be recognized. Mrs. Vanstone showed her appreciation of
it by a smile. "When your father returns," she said, "we will put your
account of his proceedings to the test. I think," she continued, rising
languidly from her chair, "I had better go indoors again now and rest on
the sofa till he comes back."

The little group under the portico broke up. Magdalen slipped away into
the garden to hear Frank's account of the interview with his father. The
other three ladies entered the house together. When Mrs. Vanstone was
comfortably established on the sofa, Norah and Miss Garth left her to
repose, and withdrew to the library to look over the last parcel of
books from London.

It was a quiet, cloudless summer's day. The heat was tempered by a light
western breeze; the voices of laborers at work in a field near reached
the house cheerfully; the clock-bell of the village church as it struck
the quarters floated down the wind with a clearer ring, a louder melody
than usual. Sweet odors from field and flower-garden, stealing in at the
open windows, filled the house with their fragrance; and the birds in
Norah's aviary upstairs sang the song of their happiness exultingly in
the sun.

As the church clock struck the quarter past four, the morning-room door
opened; and Mrs. Vanstone crossed the hall alone. She had tried vainly
to compose herself. She was too restless to lie still and sleep. For
a moment she directed her steps toward the portico--then turned, and
looked about her, doubtful where to go, or what to do next. While
she was still hesitating, the half-open door of her husband's study
attracted her attention. The room seemed to be in sad confusion. Drawers
were left open; coats and hats, account-books and papers, pipes and
fishing-rods were all scattered about together. She went