jestic. Charles
always goes off among his sheep on that day, and I shut myself up
with a pile of books in a little room. You will have to be imprisoned
with me. I do so long to peep at the visitors."

"And I dare say they want to peep at you."

"I proposed at first to shew them round myself;--but Charles wouldn't
let me."

"It would have broken Mrs. Crutch's heart."

"That's what Charles said. He thinks that Mrs. Crutch tells them
that I'm locked up somewhere, and that that gives a zest to the
search. Some people from Nottingham once did break into old Lady
Peterborough's room, and the shew was stopped for a year. There was
such a row about it! It prevented Charles coming up for the county.
But he wouldn't have got in; and therefore it was lucky, and saved
money."

By this time Nora was quite at her ease; but still there was before
her the other difficulty, of meeting Lord Peterborough. They were
driven out of the avenue, and round to the right, and through the
iron gate, and up to the huge front door. There, upon the top step,
was standing Lord Peterborough, with a billycock hat and a very old
shooting coat, and nankeen trousers, which were considerably too
short for him. It was one of the happinesses of his life to dress
just as he pleased as he went about his own place; and it certainly
was his pleasure to wear older clothes than any one else in his
establishment. "Miss Rowley," he said, coming forward to give her
a hand out of the carriage, "I am delighted that you should see
Monkhams at last."

"You see I have kept you to your promise. Caroline has been telling
me everything about it; but she is not quite a complete guide as yet.
She does not know where the seven oaks are. Do you remember telling
me of the seven oaks?"

"Of course I do. They are five miles off;--at Clatton farm, Carry.
I don't think you have been near Clatton yet. We will ride there
to-morrow." And thus Nora Rowley was made at home at Monkhams.

She was made at home, and after a week or two she was very happy. She
soon perceived that her host was a perfect gentleman, and as such,
a man to be much loved. She had probably never questioned the fact,
whether Mr. Glascock was a gentleman or not, and now she did not
analyse it. It probably never occurred to her, even at the present
time, to say to herself that he was certainly that thing, so
impossible of definition, and so capable of recognition; but she knew
that she had to do with one whos