He rose, half-consciously, and went to the window. The fountain played
merrily before his eyes, and the birds in the aviary carolled loud to his
ear. "And in this house," he murmured, "I saw her last! And there,
where the fountain now throws its spray on high,--there her benefactor
and mine told me that I was to lose her, that I might win--fame. Alas!"

At this time a woman, whose dress was somewhat above her mien and air,
which, though not without a certain respectability, were very homely,
entered the room; and seeing the young man standing thus thoughtful by
the window, paused. She was used to his habits; and since his success in
life, had learned to respect them. So she did not disturb his revery,
but began softly to arrange the room, dusting, with the corner of her
apron, the various articles of furniture, putting a stray chair or two in
its right place, but not touching a single paper. Virtuous woman, and
rare as virtuous!

The young man turned at last, with a deep, yet not altogether painful
sigh,

"My dear mother, good day to you. Ah, you do well to make the room look
its best. Happy news! I expect a visitor!"

"Dear me, Leonard, will he want lunch--or what?"

"Nay, I think not, Mother. It is he to whom we owe all,--'Haec otia
fecit.' Pardon my Latin; it is Lord L'Estrange."

The face of Mrs. Fairfield (the reader has long since divined the name)
changed instantly, and betrayed a nervous twitch of all the muscles,