Lionel tried in vain to detain him. There was a certain change in Mr.
Waife's manner to him: it was much more distant; it was even pettish,
if not surly. Lionel could not account for it; thought it mere whim at
first: but as be walked part of the way back with them towards the
village, this asperity continued, nay increased. Lionel was hurt; he
arrested his steps.

"I see you wish to have your grandchild to yourself now. May I call
early to-morrow? Sophy will tell you that I hope we may not altogether
lose sight of each other. I will give you my address when I call."

"What time to-morrow, sir?"

"About nine."

Waife bowed his head and walked on, but Sophy looked back towards her boy
friend, sorrowfully, gratefully; twilight in the skies that had been so
sunny,--twilight in her face that had been so glad! She looked back
once, twice, thrice, as Lionel halted on the road and kissed his hand.
The third time Waife said with unwonted crossness,--

"Enough of that, Sophy; looking after young men is not proper! What does
he mean about 'seeing each other, and giving me his address'?"

"He wished me to write to him sometimes and he would write to me."

Waife's brow contracted; but if, in the excess of grandfatherly caution,
he could have supposed that the bright-hearted boy of seventeen meditated
ulterior ill to that fairy child in such a scheme for correspondence, he
must have been in his dotage, and he had not hitherto evinced any signs