'Surely he is not a beggar!' said Isabel, as he drew her on.

'You may be easy about him, my dear,' said James. 'He has laid hold
of Louis, who would swallow the whole Spanish legion of impostors.
He will be after us directly with a piteous story.'

Louis was after him, with a face more than half arch fun--'Jem, Jem,
it is your uncle!'

'Nonsense! How can you be so taken in! Don't go and disappoint
granny--I'll settle him.'

'Take care, Jem--it is Oliver, and no mistake! Why, he is as like
you as Pendragon blood can make him! Go and beg his pardon.'

James hastened down stairs, as Louis bounded up--sought Mrs. Frost in
the sitting-rooms, and, without ceremony, rushed up and knocked at
the bed-room door. Jane opened it.

'He is come!' cried Louis--'Oliver is come.'

Old Jane gave a shriek, and ran back wildly, clapping her hands. Her
mistress started forward--'Come!--where?'

'Here!--in the hall with Jem.'

He feared that he had been too precipitate, for she hid her face in
her hands; but it was the intensity of thanksgiving; and though her
whole frame was in a tremor, she flew rather than ran forward, never
even seeing Louis's proffered arm. He had only reached the landing-