That afternoon Charles said nothing more, but lay and looked out of the window at the rhododendrons just bursting into bloom, at the deer, at the rabbits, at the pheasants; and beyond, where the park dipped down so suddenly, at the river which spouted and foamed away as of old; and to the right at the good old town of Casterton, and at the blue smoke from its chimneys, drifting rapidly away before the soft south-westerly wind; and he lay and looked at these and thought.

And before sundown an arch arose in the west which grew and spread; an arch of pale green sky, which grew till it met the sun, and then the wet grass in the park shone out all golden, and the topmost cedar boughs began to blaze like burnished copper.

And then he spoke. He said, ”William, my dear old friend — loved more deeply than any words can tell — come here, for I have something to say to you.”

And good William came and stood beside him. And

William looked at him and saw that his face was animated, and that his eyes were sparkling. And he stood and said not a word, but smiled and waited for him to go on.

And Charles said, “Old boy, I have been looking through that glass today, and I saw Mr. Jackson catch the trout, and I saw Welter, and I saw Mary, and I want you to go and fetch Mary here.”

And William straightway departed; and as he went up the staircase he met the butler, and he looked so happy, so radiant, and so thoroughly kind-hearted and merry, that the butler, a solemn man, found himself smiling as he drew politely aside to let him pass.

I hope you like this fellow, William. He was, in reality, only a groom, say you. Well, that is true enough. A fellow without education or breeding, though highly born. But still, I hope you like him. I was forgetting myself a little though. At this time he is master of Ravenshoe, with certainly nine, and probably twelve, thousand a year — a most eminently respectable person. One year’s income of his would satisfy a man I know, very well, and yet I am talking of him apologetically. But then we novel writers have an unlimited command of money, if we could only realize it.

However, this great capitalist went up stairs towards the nursery; and here I must break off, if you please, nd take up the thread of my narrative in another place (I don’t mean the House of Lords).

In point of fact, there had been a shindy (I use the word advisedly, and will repeat it) — a shindy, in the nursery that evening. The duty of a story-teller is to stick in a moral reflection wherever he can, and so at this place I pitchfork in this caution to young governesses, that nothing can be more incautious or reprehensible, than to give children books to keep them quiet without first seeing what these books are about.

Mary was very much to blame in this case (you see I tell the truth, and spare nobody). Gus, Flora, and Archy had been out to walk with her, as we know, and had come home in a very turbulent state of mind. They had demanded books as the sole condition on which they would be good; and Mary being in a fidget about her meeting with Lord Ascot, over the trout, and being not quite herself, had promptly supplied Gus with a number of Blackwood's Magazine, and Flora with a “Shakspeare.”

This happened early in the afternoon. Remember this; for if we are not particular in our chronology, we are naught.

Gus turned to ............