--the mischief. Tom's sister
has done for him; and mine is very eager to take care of me."

"Did you consult her?" asked Mrs. Barclay, with surprise.

"Nothing of the kind! I merely told her I was coming up here to see
you. A few questions followed, as to what you were doing here,--which I
did not tell her, by the way,--and she hit the bull's eye with the
instinctive accuracy of a woman; poured out upon me in consequence a
lecture upon imprudence. Of course I confessed to nothing, but that
mattered not. All that Tom's sister urged upon him, my good sister
pressed upon me."

"So did I once, did I not?"

"You are not going to repeat it?"

"No; that is over, for me. I know better. But, Philip, I do not see the
way very clear before you."

He left the matter there, and went off into a talk with her upon
widely-different subjects, touching or growing out of his travels and
experiences during the last year and a half. The twilight darkened, and
the fire brightened, and in the light of the fire the two sat and
talked; till a door opened, and in the same flickering shine a figure
presented itself which Mr. Dillwyn remembered. Though now it was
clothed in nothing finer than a dark calico, and round her shoulders a
little white worsted shawl was twisted. Mrs. Barclay began a sentence
of introduction, but Mr. Dillwyn cut her short.

"Do not do me such dishonour," he said. "Must I suppose that Miss
Lothrop has forgotten me?"

"Not at all, Mr. Dillwyn," said Lois frankly; "I remember you very
well. Tea will be ready in a minute--would you like to see your room
first?"

"You are too kind, to receive me!"

"It is a pleasure. You are Mrs. Barclay's friend, and she is at home
here; I will get a light."

Which she did, and Mr. Dillwyn, seeing he could not find his own way,
was obliged to accept her services and see her trip up the stairs
before him. At the door she handed him the light and ran down again.
There was a fire here too--a wood fire; blazing hospitably, and
throwing its cheery light upon a wide, pleasant, country room, not like
what Mr. Dillwyn was accustomed to, but it seemed the more hospitable.
Nothing handsome there; no articles of luxury (beside the fire); the
reflection of the blaze came back from dark old-fashioned chairs and
chests of drawers, dark chintz hangings to windows and bed, white
counterpane and napery, with a sonsy, sober, quiet air of comfort; and
the air was fresh and sweet as air should be,