his eyes like Nora's."

Mrs. Avenel approached with a steady step, and drew away the old man
tenderly.

"He is a poor creature," she whispered to Leonard--"you excite him. Come
away, I will show you your room."

Leonard followed her up the stairs, and came into a room--neatly, and
even prettily furnished. The carpet and curtains were faded by the sun,
and of old-fashioned pattern, but there was a look about the room as if
it had long been disused.

Mrs. Avenel sank down on the first chair on entering.

Leonard drew his arm round her waist affectionately: "I fear that I have
put you out sadly--my dear grandmother."

Mrs. Avenel glided hastily from his arm, and her countenance worked
much--every nerve in it twitching as it were; then, placing her hand on
his locks, she said with passion, "God bless you, my grandson," and left
the room.

Leonard dropped his knapsack on the floor, and looked around him
wistfully. The room seemed as if it had once been occupied by a female.
There was a work-box on the chest of drawers, and over it hanging
shelves for books, suspended by ribbons that had once been blue, with
silk and fringe appended to each shelf, and knots and tassels here and
there--the taste of a woman, or rather of a girl, who seeks to give a
grace to the commonest things around her. With the mechanical habit of a
student, Leonard took down one or two of the volumes still left on the
shelves. He found SPENSER'S _Fairy Queen_, RACINE in French, TASSO in
Italian; and on the fly-leaf of each volume, in the exquisite
handwriting familiar to his memory, the name "Leonora." He kissed the
books, and replaced them with a feeling akin both to tenderness and awe.

He had not been alone in his room more than a quarter of an hour, before
the maid-servant knocked at his door and summoned him to tea.

Poor John had recovered his spirits, and his wife sate by his side
holding his hand in hers. Poor John was even gay. He asked many
questions about his daughter Jane, and did not wait for the answers.
Then he spoke about the Squire, whom he confounded with Audley Egerton,
and talked of elections and the Blue party, and hoped Leonard would
always be a good Blue; and then he fell to his tea and toast, and said
no more.

Mrs. Avenel spoke little, but she eyed Leonard askant, as it were, from
time to time; and after each glance the nerves of the poor severe face
twitched again.

A little after nine o'clock, Mrs. Avenel lighted a