w the master look so black; but, bless you, it all
went off in a few days, and I don't know that there's been much
difference in either of them since then, not till your ma was took ill."

On the night of his arrival he had behaved well at family prayers, as
also on the following morning; his father read about David's dying
injunctions to Solomon in the matter of Shimei, but he did not mind it.
In the course of the day, however, his corns had been trodden on so many
times that he was in a misbehaving humour, on this the second night after
his arrival. He knelt next Charlotte and said the responses
perfunctorily, not so perfunctorily that she should know for certain that
he was doing it maliciously, but so perfunctorily as to make her
uncertain whether he might be malicious or not, and when he had to pray
to be made truly honest and conscientious he emphasised the "truly." I
do not know whether Charlotte noticed anything, but she knelt at some
distance from him during the rest of his stay. He assures me that this
was the only spiteful thing he did during the whole time he was at
Battersby.

When he went up to his bedroom, in which, to do them justice, they had
given him a fire, he noticed what indeed he had noticed as soon as he was
shown into it on his arrival, that there was an illuminated card framed
and glazed over his bed with the words, "Be the day weary or be the day
long, at last it ringeth to evensong." He wondered to himself how such
people could leave such a card in a room in which their visitors would
have to spend the last hours of their evening, but he let it alone.
"There's not enough difference between 'weary' and 'long' to warrant an
'or,'" he said, "but I suppose it is all right." I believe Christina had
bought the card at a bazaar in aid of the restoration of a neighbouring
church, and having been bought it had got to be used--besides, the
sentiment was so touching and the illumination was really lovely. Anyhow,
no irony could be more complete than leaving it in my hero's bedroom,
though assuredly no irony had been intended.

On the third day after Ernest's arrival Christina relapsed again. For
the last two days she had been in no pain and had slept a good deal; her
son's presence still seemed to cheer her, and she often said how thankful
she was to be surrounded on her death-bed by a family so happy, so God-
fearing, so united, but now she began to wander, and, being more sensible
of the appr