Old reminiscences remain very firm with old people,--and Lord Scroope
was still much afraid of the fast, loud beauty. His principles told him
that he should not sever the mother from the son, and that as it suited
him to take the son for his own purposes, he should also, to some
extent, accept the mother also. But he dreaded the affair. He dreaded
Mrs. Neville; and he dreaded Jack, who had been so named after his
gallant grandfather, Colonel Smith. When Mrs. Neville arrived, she was
found to be so subdued and tame that she could hardly open her mouth
before the old Earl. Her loudness, if she ever had been loud, was
certainly all gone,--and her fastness, if ever she had been fast, had
been worn out of her. She was an old woman, with the relics of great
beauty, idolizing her two sons for whom all her life had been a
sacrifice, in weak health, and prepared, if necessary, to sit in silent
awe at the feet of the Earl who had been so good to her boy.

"I don't know how to thank you for what you have done," she said, in a
low voice.

"No thanks are required," said the Earl. "He is the same to us as if he
were our own." Then she raised the old man's hand and kissed it,--and
the old man owned to himself that he had made a mistake.

As to Jack Neville--. But Jack Neville shall have another chapter opened
on his behalf.




CHAPTER IV.