Conclusion

`Mamma, mamma, here's Mr. Markham!'

I did not hear the reply, but presently the same voice answered--

`It is indeed, mamma--look for yourself.'

I did not raise my eyes, but I suppose mamma looked, for a clear, melodious voice, whose tones thrilled through my nerves, exclaimed--

`Oh, aunt! here's Mr. Markham--Arthur's friend!--Stop, Richard!'

There was such evidence of joyous though suppressed excitement in the utterance of those few words-- especially that tremulous, `Oh, aunt--' that it threw me almost off my guard. The carriage stopped immediately, and I looked up and met the eye of a pale, grave, elderly lady surveying me from the open window. She bowed and so did I, and then she withdrew her head, while Arthur screamed to the footman to let him out; but before that functionary could descend from his box, a hand was silently put forth from the carriage window. I knew that hand, though a black glove concealed its delicate whiteness and half its fair proportions, and quickly seizing it, I pressed it in my own--ardently for a moment, but instantly recollecting myself, I dropped it, and it was immediately withdrawn.

`Were you coming to see us, or only passing by?' asked the low voice of its owner, who, I felt, was attentively surveying my countenance from behind the thick, black veil which with the shadowing panels, entirely concealed her own from me.

`I--I came to see the place,' faltered I.

`The place,' repeated she, in a tone which betokened more displeasure or disappointment than surprise. `Will you not enter it then?'

`If you wish it.'

`Can you doubt?'

`Yes, yes! he must enter,' cried Arthur running round from the other door; and seizing my hand in both his, he shook it heartily.

`Do you remember me, sir?' said he.

`Yes, full well, my little man, altered though you are,' replied I, surveying the comparatively tall, slim young gentleman with his mother's image visibly stamped upon his fair, intelligent features, in spite of the blue eyes beaming with gladness, and the bright locks clustering beneath his cap.

`Am I not grown?' said he, stretching himself up to his full height.

`Grown! three inches upon my word!'

`I was seven last birthday,' was the proud rejoinder. `In seven years more, I shall be as tall as you, nearly.'

`Arthur,' said his mother, `tell him to come in. Go on Richard.'

There was a touch of sadness as well as coldness in her voice, but I knew not to what to ascribe it. The carriage drove on and entered the gates before us. My little companion led me up the park, discoursing