"I suppose I was in one of my amiable moods last night. It will prevent anxiety in No. 3, Paradise Row. Did you see there was another horrible collision on the Great Northern, mother-eight killed and seventeen injured?"

'No, Guy, I have not read it," a little quietly. “I think, if Miss Elliott be not too tired, after breakfast I will get her to give me the particulars."

"What, before Jeremy Taylor, mother?"

And the twinkle of his eyes said, plainly, "Your work is beginning already, you see." But Mrs. Chichester, as though her son's joke did not quite please her, changed the subject altogether.

Mrs. Chichester spent her mornings in a large upper room looking over the porch and leading out of the Blue Chamber. It was called her dressing-room; but there were no other evidences of her toilette than were contained in the heavy japanned boxes where, years afterwards, Dym found relics and hoards of fine cobweb lace, an Oriental chain of pearls, and other old heirlooms.

The room was pleasant, and had a delightful view from one of the windows, beside which was an old high-backed chair of carved oak, and a table covered profusely with books and works. At this table Dym found herself ensconced shortly after breakfast, but the "Times" as yet had not been taken up.

"Do not read just yet; I want to talk to you. It seems to me that we ought to know each other a little," Mrs. Chichester observed, with a peremptory graciousness which had driven the girl into shamefaced silence.

Already Dym had discovered she was a little afraid of Mrs. Chichester, in spite of her beauty and goodness. Dym was quite sure, from her son's account, that she was very good.

"We ought to know each other a little better-don't you think so? My son and I both hope you will be happy here, Miss Elliott."

Dym hoped so too with all her heart, but she assented only briefly.

My son has taken a great interest in St. Luke's and in your brother. Guy exaggerates a little in his descriptions, but he will have it that your brother is little short of a saint."

"There is no one like Will," said Dym; but the tears sprang to her eyes. In mentioning St. Luke's Mrs. Chichester had effectually broken the ice.

Yes, Mr. Elliott seems a thorough clergyman. What a pity he is in such poor health! We must have him down here, and see what Yorkshire air will do for him."

"Oh, thank you," cried Dym, gratefully. She was quite touched by this unexpected kindness. She gave Mrs. Chichester a moving little account of Will's long illness and heroism, and self-denying labors in the parish. "The poorer a person is, the better Will seems to like him. He will have it," finished the little sister, "that a sick person ought to excite our reverence rather than our compassion. He quotes that from his favorite saint, St. Francis de Sales."

"St. Louis of France used to tend the sick on his knees, with uncovered head. I like these notions," moralized the elder lady. "These sentiments of respect are not common among young people nowadays. As Guy says, the old chivalry of religion is fast dying out. I dare say," speaking hesitatingly, as though doubtful of her own prudence-"I dare say Mr. Elliott somewhat wondered at my son's sudden devotion to St. Luke's."

"I think Will was rather perplexed at first," said Dym, honestly.

"And afterwards? I hope you do not think me curious; but Guy is so unlike other men that I cannot help wondering what people think of his sudden flights and fancies."

Here was a dilemma; but Dym met it sturdily.

"Will said it was a whim evidently that brought Mr. Chichester to St. Luke's; but he was glad of his help nevertheless, and they got on very well together. I don't think Mr. Chichester said much about himself in all these weeks, and it was only a guess of Will's that it was all excitement and restlessness that drove him to the work. I think he got it into his head that Mr. Chichester was not quite happy.'

Dym was hardly wise in her excessive candor; for though Mrs. Chichester had evidently got the answer she expected, an expression of pain crossed her face; she took up some work, sighed, and laid it down again.

"There is no reason why my son should not be happy," she returned, rather proudly, as though something in Dym's

speech offended her. "Few men are blessed with more advantages. I suppose," speaking to herself, "spoilt children are always more or less capricious, and cry for the moon. The cleverer a man is, the more numerous his idiosyncrasies -don't you think so, Miss Elliott? I dare say even your brother has his whims."

Dym, who felt she had touched on delicate ground, and was justly rebuked, said, “Yes ;" and then trusted the subject would be changed.

Dym had not been four-and-twenty hours in the house, yet already instinctively she felt that there would be danger in claiming any prior intimacy with Mr. Chichester, or in betraying familiarity with his pet hobbies. With all Mrs. Chichester's gentleness, there was a standoffishness and a tone of monopoly in all that concerned her son. He was evidently the object of her intense idolatry; but before many days were over Dym argued shrewdly that she guarded her mother's prerogative a little too jealously.

Her devotion to him was unselfish, but it lacked one element to insure perfection. Mrs. Chichester loved her son, and her affection was most warmly reciprocated; but she did not thoroughly understand him; in some moods she was even a little afraid of him.

Mother's love is not always exempt from this fear; some women glory in it. The oft-repeated story of the hen who rears a duckling and then sees her nursling take to the unknown element is true of many a mother. The young divinity she has worshiped from his infancy suddenly breaks loose from his swaddling-bands, abandons the leading-rein, puts aside the fond hand that restrained him, and breaks out into devious ways, or carves out new paths for himself away from the old landmarks. One can imagine the mother stretching out her hands across that unknown territory and praying him to return. Perchance the wind carries back some light mocking answer. Where is the child she has known? A few of these foolish hearts go on burning their candles and kneeling before their empty shrines. The wiser among them trim their household lamp and make the hearth-fire burn cheerily. By and by these young prodigals-these wanderers lost in their own mist will come back, allured and cheered by the old lights, and condescend to be warmed by them.

"Faith as a grain of mustard-seed." What mother is there who needs not to possess that?

Dym had made a wrong calculation in repeating her brother's words; Mrs. Chichester still harped upon it.

"I hope you will never hint such a thing to any one else— your brother's suspicion, I mean," she went on this time rather appealingly. "My son deserves to be happy, if any one in this world ever does; he has excellent spirits do not you think So, Miss Elliott ?"

Dym eagerly answered that certainly Mr. Chichester had excellent spirits, and went on to add, with innocent hypocrisy, that no one ever made her laugh before.

Mrs. Chichester's brow cleared.

"His sallies of humor are so irresistible. Dear Guy! By the by, Miss Elliott, I hope you have carefully guarded the confidence I reposed in you; I would not for worlds have my son's suspicions aroused.'

This affronted Dym.

"I never betray confidence, Mrs. Chichester," she returned, loftily; and her manner was so full of vexed dignity that Mrs. Chichester could not forbear a smile; they were finding out each other's angles already.

"You do not know how quick Guy is; a word dropped carelessly—a look, even-will tell him as much as a whole sentence. I only want to put you on your guard. Why, he even took alarm at my ready acquiescence with his wish to have you as my companion.".

"Yes, he told me that," returned Dym half mollified; "he seemed to have anticipated some difficulty. Perhaps I ought to tell you, Mrs. Chichester, that he questioned me rather closely as to what was contained in your letter-if you had expressed yourself as failing, or anything of that sort." "And you put him off the scent?"

"I tried, but I don't know whether I quite succeeded." Mrs. Chichester sighed heavily. "Poor Guy!"

Why do you distress yourself so, dear Mrs. Chichester ?" cried the girl, impulsively, moved at last to sincere sympathy. "I know you do not wish to alarm your son needlessly, but if you cannot spare him pain in the end

"There is plenty of time," was the desponding answer; "there is no need for him to share this long suspense before

hand.

Remember, Miss Elliott, your lips are sealed on this subject till I unclose them."

"To him do you mean, or altogether? Perhaps," she went on, with a touch of womanliness quaint in one so young, "it may relieve you a little to talk out your fears to me;" then, very sweetly, "My own dear mother was blind before she died, Mrs. Chichester.'

Mrs. Chichester shuddered, and then held out her hand to her young comforter, as though touched in spite of herself. Dym held it, and looked up anxiously in her eyes; they were large brown eyes, very beautiful in color and expression, but in one of them Dym fancied she could see a touch of filminess. "If mamma had lived," she went on, "the doctors would have cured her. I have heard all about it; you don't know how easy it is; it is hardly an operation at all, it is so very simple."

Mrs. Chichester shook her head. "You cannot couch a cataract until it is formed. I know I am very silly to dread it so; perhaps, after all, the dread will be removed long before I shall need courage, for you know, Miss Elliott, I may have years to wait before that time comes."

"Yes, I know," returned Dym, softly; and then with a deep sigh Mrs. Chichester changed the subject.

CHAPTER IX.

WHO IS HONOR NETHECOTE?

DYM was very glad she had arrived at this happy understanding with Mrs. Chichester; for before luncheon was over Mr. Chichester gave her convincing proof that he already considered her as one of the family. She did not know that he had held weighty argument with his mother on this very subject.

"We must keep her in her place, Guy," Mrs. Chichester had said the night before Dym's arrival ; 66 Iwe must be kind to her, of course, and make her feel herself at home, poor girl;