lonies, as a
man from whom much was to be expected, had large influence in determining
Talbot in the course he proposed taking, and which he had not yet
communicated to his mother.

The evening repast had just been finished, and the mother and son were
walking slowly up and down the long porch overlooking the river in front
of the house. There was a curious and interesting likeness between the
two,--a facial resemblance only, for Madam Talbot was a slender, rather
frail little woman, and looked smaller by contrast as she walked by the
side of her son, who had his arm affectionately thrown over her shoulder.
She was as straight, however, as he was himself, in spite of her years
and cares, and bore herself as proudly erect as in the days of her youth.
Her black eyes looked out with undiminished lustre from beneath her
snowy-white hair, which needed no powder and was covered by the mob cap
she wore. She looked every inch the lady of the manor, nor did her
actions and words belie her appearance. The subject of the conversation
was evidently a serious one. There was a troubled expression upon her
face, in spite of her self-control, which was in marked contrast to the
hesitating and somewhat irresolute look upon the handsome countenance of
her son.

"My son, my son," she said at last, "why will you persist in approaching
me upon this subject? You know my opinions. I have not hesitated to
speak frankly, and it is not my habit to change them; in this instance
they are as fixed and as immutable as the polar star. The traditions and
customs of four hundred years are behind me. Our family--you know your
father and I were cousins, and are descended from the same stock--have
been called the 'loyal Talbots.' I cannot contemplate with equanimity
the possibility even of one of us in rebellion against the king."

"Mother--I am sorry--grieved--but I must tell you that that is a
possibility I fear you must learn to face. I have--"

"Oh, Hilary, do not tell me you have finally decided to join this
unrighteous rebellion. Pause before you answer, my boy--I entreat you,
and it is not my habit to entreat, as you very well know. See, you have
been the joy of my heart all my life, the idol of my soul,--I will
confess it now,--and for you and your future I have lived and toiled and
served and loved. I have dreamed you great, high in rank and place,
serving your king, winning back the ancient position of our family. I
have shrunk