ry,
began to pour out the most fulsome flattery, and to appear to take it
for granted that Joyce would be won by it. He little knew the strength
and courage which the "rustic beauty," as he inwardly called her, could
show.

As soon as she could get a word in, she rallied herself, and said, in a
low, determined voice:

"I do not wish to hear any more, my lord. I do not think you have any
right to come here and offend me by saying what you cannot mean. I will
take advice about my brother's debts to you, and, if you please, I will
let you know the result."

"What a charming woman of business!" exclaimed Lord Maythorne. "A
veritable Portia. A little indignant protest is so becoming. Well, well,
we will leave the matter for the present."

And now a figure, clothed in deepest mourning, appeared from the hall
behind, and Mrs. Falconer with a curtsey which was profoundly
respectful, said:

"May I ask, sir, what brings you to the house of a poor widow? My
daughter is very young and very inexperienced; I cannot allow you to
remain to annoy her."

"My good lady, I am your daughter's slave. I am ready to lie at her
feet. Annoy her, forsooth!"

Joyce, who had endured bravely up to this moment, sprang towards her
mother as if instinctively for protection, and Mrs. Falconer took her
hand in hers.

"What is it, my dear, what is it? Piers came to call me; I thought you
were distressed."

This was really the first time since her sorrow that Mrs. Falconer had
roused herself to take an interest in anything; but Piers' summons, with
the announcement that there was a man in the porch talking to Joyce, and
that he knew by the sound of her voice she was frightened, had not been
in vain. The maternal love, deep in Mrs. Falconer's heart, asserted
itself, and put to flight for the time the selfish brooding over her
sorrow, in which for so many weeks she had indulged.

"Joyce is very young," she said, tenderly, "and she has been left to
bear a burden too heavy for her years. I beg you, sir, to say no more to
hurt her and annoy her, but to leave the premises."

"My dear madam," Lord Maythorne said, "I came in a friendly spirit to
discuss a little business about your elder and very hopeful son. He owes
me some eight hundred pounds--a debt of honour, but at the same time a
debt;" and, setting his teeth, "_One I mean to have paid!_ It may seem a
trifle to the owner of these broad acres, and to the inhabitants of this
grand ancestral ho