s exchanged with her when he
put up his pony at her stable, and went to his tutor.

There was a certainty of welcome here that cheered him, as he swung
himself from the roof of the coach, lifted Bustle down, and called out
to the barmaid that he hoped Mrs. Lavers was well.

The next moment Mrs. Lavers was at the door herself, with her broad,
good-humoured face, close cap, bright shawl, and black gown, just as Guy
always recollected, and might, if he could, have recollected, when he
was born. If she had any more guests she neither saw nor cared for
them; her welcome was all for him; and he could not but smile and look
cheerful, if only that he might not disappoint her, feeling, in very
truth, cheered and gratified by her cordiality. If he was in a hurry,
he would not show it; and he allowed her to seat him in her own peculiar
abode, behind the glass-cases of tongue and cold chicken, told her he
came from Oxford, admired her good fire, and warmed his hands over it,
before he even asked if the 'something' had arrived which was to take
him home. It was coming to the door at the moment, and proved to be Mr.
Markham's tall, high-wheeled gig, drawn by the old white-faced chestnut,
and driven by Markham himself--a short, sturdy, brown-red, honest-faced
old man, with frosted hair and whiskers, an air more of a yeoman than
of a lawyer; and though not precisely gentlemanlike, yet not
ungentlemanlike, as there was no pretension about him.

Guy darted out to meet him, and was warmly shaken by the hand, though
the meeting was gruff.

'So, Sir Guy! how d'ye do? I wonder what brings you here on such short
notice? Good morning, Mrs. Lavers. Bad roads this winter.'

'Good morning, Mr. Markham. It is a treat, indeed, to have Sir Guy here
once more; so grown, too.'

'Grown--hum!' said Markham, surveying him; 'I don't see it. He'll never
be as tall as his father. Have you got your things, Sir Guy? Ay, that's
the way,--care for nothing but the dog. Gone on by the coach, most
likely.'

They might have been, for aught Guy knew to the contrary, but Boots had
been more attentive, and they were right. Mrs. Lavers begged he would
walk in, and warm himself; but Markham answered,--

'What do you say, Sir Guy? The road is shocking, and it will be as dark
as a pit by the time we get home.'

'Very well; we won't keep old Whiteface standing,' said Guy. 'Good-bye,
Mrs. Lavers thank you. I shall see you again before long.'

Before Markham had