t confidence in
it herself.

There was a little French clock over the mantelpiece in the school-room,
which I consulted nearly every minute. It wanted now but ten minutes of
one.

'Shall we go down to the drawing-room, dear?' said Cousin Knollys, who was
growing restless like me.

So down-stairs we went, pausing by mutual consent at the great window at
the stair-head, which looks out on the avenue. Mr. Danvers was riding his
tall, grey horse at a walk, under the wide branches toward the house, and
we waited to see him get off at the door. In his turn he loitered there,
for the good Rector's gig, driven by the Curate, was approaching at a smart
ecclesiastical trot.

Doctor Clay got down, and shook hands with Mr. Danvers; and after a word
or two, away drove the Curate with that upward glance at the windows from
which so few can refrain.

I watched the Rector and Mr. Danvers loitering on the steps as a patient
might the gathering of surgeons who are to perform some unknown operation.
They, too, glanced up at the window as they turned to enter the house, and
I drew back. Cousin Monica looked at her watch.

'Four minutes only. Shall we go to the drawing-room?'

Waiting for a moment to let the gentlemen get by on the way to the study,
we, accordingly, went down, and I heard the Rector talk of the dangerous
state of Grindleston bridge, and wondered how he could think of such things
at a time of sorrow. Everything about those few minutes of suspense remains
fresh in my recollection. I remember how they loitered and came to a halt
at the corner of the oak passage leading to the study, and how the Rector
patted the marble head and smoothed the inflexible tresses of William Pitt,
as he listened to Mr. Danvers' details about the presentment; and then,
as they went on, I recollect the boisterous nose-blowing that suddenly
resounded from the passage, and which I then referred, and still refer,
intuitively to the Rector.

We had not been five minutes in the drawing-room when Branston entered, to
say that the gentlemen I had mentioned were all assembled in the study.

'Come, dear,' said Cousin Monica; and leaning on her arm I reached the
study door. I entered, followed by her. The gentlemen arrested their talk
and stood up, those who were sitting, and the Rector came forward very
gravely, and in low tones, and very kindly, greeted me. There was nothing
emotional in this salutation, for though my father never quarrelled, yet a