ather, and their most intimate friend in the town, and he
had often been with them, both as friend and clergyman, through their
trouble--no later than Christmas Day, he had come to bring the feast of
that day to Margaret in her sick-room. Indeed, it had been chiefly
for the sake of the Mays that he had resolved to spend the holidays
at Stoneborough, taking the care of Abbotstoke, while his brother, the
vicar, went to visit their father. This was, however, the first time
he had come in his old familiar way to spend an evening, and there was
something in the resumption of former habits that painfully marked the
change.

Ethel, on coming in, found Flora making tea, her father leaning back
in his great chair in silence, Richard diligently cutting bread,
and Blanche sitting on Mr. Wilmot's knee, chattering fast and
confidentially. Flora made Harry dispense the cups, and called every one
to their places; Ethel timidly glanced at her father's face, as he rose
and came into the light. She thought the lines and hollows were more
marked than ever, and that he looked fatigued and mournful, and she
felt cut to the heart; but he began to exert himself, and to make
conversation, not, however, about Cocksmoor, but asking Mr. Wilmot what
his brother thought of his new squire, Mr. Rivers.

"He likes him very much," said Mr. Wilmot. "He is a very pleasing
person, particularly kind-hearted and gentle, and likely to do a great
deal for the parish. They have been giving away beef and blankets at a
great rate this Christmas."

"What family is there?" asked Flora.

"One daughter, about Ethel's age, is there with her governess. He
has been twice married, and the first wife left a son, who is in the
Dragoons, I believe. This girl's mother was Lord Cosham's daughter."

So the talk lingered on, without much interest or life. It was rather
keeping from saying nothing than conversation, and no one was without
the sensation that she was missing, round whom all had been free and
joyous--not that she had been wont to speak much herself, but nothing
would go on smoothly or easily without her. So long did this last, that
Ethel began to think her father meant to punish her by not beginning the
subject that night, and though she owned that she deserved it, she could
not help being very much disappointed.

At length, however, her father began: "We wanted you to talk over a
scheme that these young ones have been concocting. You see, I am obliged
to k