him instant material help began to have a great fascination for
her; it was a new and unexpected channel for her cribbed and confined
emotions. With experiences so much wider than his, Lady Constantine saw
that the chances were perhaps a million to one against Swithin St. Cleeve
ever being Astronomer Royal, or Astronomer Extraordinary of any sort; yet
the remaining chance in his favour was one of those possibilities which,
to a woman of bounding intellect and venturesome fancy, are pleasanter to
dwell on than likely issues that have no savour of high speculation in
them. The equatorial question was a great one; and she had caught such a
large spark from his enthusiasm that she could think of nothing so
piquant as how to obtain the important instrument.

When Tabitha Lark arrived at the Great House next day, instead of finding
Lady Constantine in bed, as formerly, she discovered her in the library,
poring over what astronomical works she had been able to unearth from the
worm-eaten shelves. As these publications were, for a science of such
rapid development, somewhat venerable, there was not much help of a
practical kind to be gained from them. Nevertheless, the equatorial
retained a hold upon her fancy, till she became as eager to see one on
the Rings-Hill column as Swithin himself.

The upshot of it was that Lady Constantine sent a messenger that evening
to Welland Bottom, where the homestead of Swithin's grandmother was
situated, requesting the young man's presence at the house at twelve
o'clock next day.

He hurriedly returned an obedient reply, and the promise was enough to
lend great freshness to her manner next morning, instead of the leaden
air which was too frequent with her before the sun reached the meridian,
and sometimes after. Swithin had, in fact, arisen as an attractive
little intervention between herself and despair.

VII

A fog defaced all the trees of the park that morning, the white
atmosphere adhered to the ground like a fungoid growth from it, and made
the turfed undulations look slimy and raw. But Lady Constantine settled
down in her chair to await the coming of the late curate's son with a
serenity which the vast blanks outside could neither baffle nor destroy.

At two minutes to twelve the door-bell rang, and a look overspread the
lady's face that was neither maternal, sisterly, nor amorous; but partook
in an indescribable manner of all three kinds. The door was flung open
and