Williams. Tell her I will write it. She is quite sure to have a letter
from me tomorrow--no, on Tuesday morning."

And so he went away, bravely and cheerily, the boys accompanying him to
the gate, and shouting and waving their hats to him as he crossed the
Links, until their grandmother reprovingly suggested that it was Sunday.

"But Mr. Roy does not go off to India every Sunday. Hurrah! I wish we
were all going too. Three cheers for Mr. Roy." "Mr. Roy is a very fine
fellow, and I hope he will do well," said Mrs. Dalziel, touched by their
enthusiasm; also by some old memories, for, like many St. Andrews folk,
she was strongly linked with India, and had sent off one-half of her
numerous family to live or die there. There was something like a tear in
her old eyes, though not for the young tutor; but it effectually kept her
from either looking at or thinking of the governess. And she forgot them
both immediately. They were merely the tutor and the governess.

As for the boys, they chattered vehemently all tea-time about Mr. Roy,
and their envy of the "jolly" life he was going to; then their minds
turned to their own affairs, and there was silence.

The kind of silence, most of us know it, when any one belonging to a
household, or very familiar there, goes away on a long indefinite
absence. At first there is little consciousness of absence at all; we
are so constantly expecting the door to be opened for the customary
presence that we scarcely even miss the known voice, or face, or hand.
By-and-by, however, we do miss it, and there comes a general, loud,
shallow lamentation which soon cures itself, and implies an easy and
comfortable forgetfulness before long. Except with some, or possibly
only one, who is, most likely the one who has never been heard to utter a