She gazed upon me with that kindness and tenderness I had always received
since the days when, younger and more beautiful than now, she was the
companion of my mother. And the unbidden shadow of a thought came to me
that these two sweet women had had some sadness in common. Many a
summer's day I remembered them sewing together in the spring-house,
talking in subdued voices which were hushed when I came running in. And
lo! the same memory was on Dorothy's mother then, half expressed as she
laid her hands upon my shoulders.

"Poor Elizabeth!" she said,--not to me, nor yet to Dorothy; "I wish that
she might have lived to see you now. It is Captain Jack again."

She sighed, and kissed me. And I felt at last that I had come home after
many wanderings. We sat down, mother and daughter on the sofa with their
fingers locked. She did not speak of Mr. Manners's conduct, or of my
stay in the sponging-house. And for this I was thankful.

"I have had a letter from Mr. Lloyd, Richard," she said.

"And my grandfather?" I faltered, a thickness in my throat.

"My dear boy," answered Mrs. Manners, gently, "he thinks you dead. But
you have written him?" she added hurriedly.

I nodded. "From Dumfries."

"He will have the letter soon," she said cheerfully. "I thank Heaven
I am able to tell you that his health is remarkable under the
circumstances. But he will not quit the house, and sees no one except