me. You know my mother; it is
not always easy to manage her. She will be quieter when she has once got
away; so, with many thanks for all your kindness, Burnett, I will just
look out for these lodgings.'

'Well, if your mind is made up, I will not try to change your
determination; but, if you will excuse my plainness of speech, I think
it would be better for you to be without your mother for another week or
two.'

'I daresay you are right,' replied Cyril wearily; 'and my quiet life
here has been a great boon. But it does not do to think only of one's
self. And, after all, nothing matters much. Perhaps Mrs. Johnson may
know of some good rooms; they must be furnished, for of course it would
never do to move our furniture under the present unsettled state of
things. Besides, ours is too old to bear another journey. My mother can
bring away the books, and her bits of china, and any little thing she
fancies, and Biddy can mount guard over the rest until we can dispose of
it. I daresay I can soon get the house off my hands.'

'There will be no difficulty about that,' returned Michael, inwardly
wondering at Cyril's cool, business-like tone; in his heart he admired
him all the more for his pluck. 'Paget is looking out for a house--you
know he expects to be married shortly--shall I write to him and give him
a hint that you want to find a tenant for the Gray Cottage? I daresay
the landlord will be glad for him to take it.'

'If you will be so good. I forgot all about Paget. But he would turn up
his nose at our old carpets; his bride-elect is rather a grand lady.'

Cyril's tone was a trifle cynical; but Michael would have forgiven him
if his speech had been flavoured with the gall of bitterness.

'Very well, then; I will write to him before country post, and we will
have up Mrs. Johnson and talk to her.'

And Cyril at once rang the bell.

Two days afterwards Audrey received her first long letter from Michael.
A brief note was all that had yet reached her.

'MY DEAR AUDREY,' it began,

'I hope that you will not think that I have forgotten you; but when
there is literally nothing to say, I am rather a bad hand at
cooking up a letter; and I had not a single fact to go upon, except
to tell you that, on the whole, we were pretty fit, and were
jogging along somehow. Well, I have a whole budget of facts now,
and my pen has become a valuable implement.

'First, then, Blake has come to t