Laughing, talking, playing at proverbs, earning and paying , it was a merry group in Mrs. Ashley's drawing-room. That lady herself was not joining in the merriment. She sat apart at a small table, some work in her hand, speaking a word now and then, and smiling to herself in echo to some unusual burst of laughter. It was so surprising that only five voices could make so much noise. They were sitting in a circle; Mary Ashley between William Halliburton and Herbert Dare, Anna Lynn between Herbert Dare and Henry Ashley, Henry and William side by side.  
Time, in these happy moments, passes rapidly. In due course, the hands of the French clock on the mantel-piece to half-past eight, and its silver tones rang out the chimes. They were at the end of the game, and just settling themselves to commence another. The half-hour aroused William, and he glanced towards the clock.
 
"Half-past eight! who would have thought it? I had no idea it was so late. I must leave you just for half an hour," he added, rising.
 
"Leave for what?" cried Henry Ashley.
 
"To go as far as East's. I will not remain there."
 
Henry broke into a "wordy war," as Herbert Dare had called it earlier in the evening. William smiled, and overruled him in his quiet way.
 
"They have my promise to go round this evening," he said. "I gave it them , and must just go round to tell them I cannot come—if that's not a contradiction. Don't look so cross, Henry."
 
"Of course, you don't mean to come back," resentfully Henry. "When you get there, you'll stop there."
 
"No; I have told you I will not. But if I let them expect me all the evening, they will be looking and waiting, and do no good."
 
He went out as he spoke, and left the house. As he reached the gate Mr. Ashley was coming in. Mr. Ashley had been in the manufactory; he did not often go there after tea. "Going already, William?" Mr. Ashley exclaimed in accents of surprise.
 
"Not for long, sir. I must just look in at East's."
 
"Is that scheme likely to ? Can you keep the men?"
 
"Yes, indeed, I think so. My hopes are strong."
 
"Well, there's nothing like hope," answered Mr. Ashley, with a laugh. "But I shall wonder if you do keep them. William," he added, after a slight pause, his tone changing to a business one, "I have a few words to say to you. I was about to speak to you in the counting-house this afternoon, but something put it aside. I have changed my plans with respect to this Lyons journey. Instead of despatching you, as I had thought of doing, I believe I shall send Samuel Lynn."
 
Mr. Ashley paused. William did not immediately reply.
 
"Samuel Lynn's experience is greater than yours. It is a new thing, and he will see, better than you could do, what can and what cannot be done."
 
"Very well, sir," at length answered William.
 
"You speak as though you were disappointed," remarked Mr. Ashley.
 
William was disappointed. But his for the feeling lay far deeper than Mr. Ashley supposed. "I should like to have gone, sir, very much. But—of course, my , or not liking, has nothing to do with it. Perhaps it is as well that I should not go," he resumed, more in soliloquy, as if he were trying to reconcile himself to the disappointment by argument, than in observation to Mr. Ashley. "I do not see how the men would have done without me at East's."
 
"Ay, that's a grave consideration," replied Mr. Ashley jokingly, as he turned to walk to his own door.
 
William stood still, nailed as it were to the spot, looking after his master. A most unwelcome thought had flashed over him; and in the impulse of the moment he followed Mr. Ashley, to speak it out. Even in the night's obscurity, his emotion was perceptible.
 
"Mr. Ashley, the suspicion cast on me, at the time that cheque was lost, has not been the reason—the reason for your declining to intrust me with this commission?"
 
Mr. Ashley looked at him in surprise. But that William's was all too real, he would have laughed at him.
 
"William, I think you are turning silly. No suspicion was cast on you."
 
"You have never stirred in the matter, sir; you have never spoken to me to tell me you were satisfied that I was not in any way guilty," was William's answer.
 
"Spoken to you! where was the need? Why, William, my whole life, my daily with you, is only so much proof that you have my full confidence. Should I admit you to my home, to the companionship of my children, if I had no more faith in you than that?"
 
"True," said William, beginning to recover himself. "It was a thought that flashed over me, sir, when you said I was not to be sent on this journey. I should not like you to doubt me; I could not live under it."
 
"William, you reproached me with not having stirred in——"
 
"I beg your pardon, sir. I never thought of such a thing as reproach. I would not presume to do it."
 
"I have not stirred in the matter," resumed Mr. Ashley. "A very disagreeable suspicion arises in my mind at times, as to how the cheque went; and I do not choose to stir in it. Have you no suspicion on the point?"
 
The question took William by surprise. He in his answer; an unusual thing for him to do. "N—o."
 
"I ask if you have a suspicion?" quietly repeated Mr. Ashley, meaningly, as if he took William's answer for nothing, or had not heard it.
 
Then William spoke out readily. "A suspicion has crossed my mind, sir. But it is one I should not like to breathe to you."
 
"That's enough. I see. White voluntarily took the loss of the money on himself. He came to me to say so; therefore, I infer that it has in some private way been to him. Mr. Dare round, and advised me not to investigate the affair, as I was no loser by it; hinted the same thing. Altogether, I can see through the thing pretty clearly, and I am content to let it rest. Are you satisfied? If not——"
 
Mr. Ashley broke off . William waited.
 
"So, don't turn foolish again. You and I now understand each other. William!" he emphatically added, "I am growing to like you almost as I like my own children. I am proud of you; and I shall be prouder yet. God bless you, my boy!"
 
It was so very rare that the calm, Thomas Ashley was betrayed into anything like demonstrativeness, that William could only stand and look. And while he looked, the door closed on his master.
 
He went way with all speed, calling at his home. Were the truth to be told, perhaps William was quite as anxious to be back again at Mr. Ashley's as Henry was that he should be there. Scarcely stopping for a word of greeting, he opened a drawer, took from it a small case of fossils, and then searched for something else; something which he could not find.
 
"Have any of you seen my microscope?" he asked, turning to the group at the table bending over their books.
 
Jane looked round. "My dear, I lent it to Patience to-day. I suppose she forgot to return it. Gar, will you go and ask her for it?"
 
"Don't disturb yourself, Gar," said William. "I am going out, and will ask Patience myself."
 
Patience was alone in her parlour. She returned him the microscope, saying that the reason she had not sent it in was, that she had not had time to use it. "Thee art in evening dress!" she remarked to William.
 
"I am at Mrs. Ashley's. I have only come out for a few minutes. Thank you. Good night, Patience."
 
"Wait thee a moment, William. Is Anna ready to come home?"
 
"No, that she is not. Why?"
 
"I want to send for her. Samuel Lynn is spending the evening in the town, so I must send Grace. And I don't care to send her late. She will only get talking to John Pembridge, if she goes out after he is home from work."
 
William smiled. "It is natural that she should, I suppose. When are they going to be married?"
 
"Shortly," answered Patience, in a tone not quite so equable as usual. Patience saw no good in people getting married in general; and she was at the of losing Grace in particular. "She leaves us in a fortnight from this," she continued, to Grace, "and all her thoughts seem to be now upon meeting John Pembridge. Could thee bring Anna home for me?"
 
"With pleasure," replied William.
 
"That is well, then. Grace does not deserve to go out to-night, for she crossed me to-day. Good evening, William."
 
Fossil-case in hand, and the microscope in his pocket, William made the best of his way to Honey Fair. Robert East, Stephen , Brumm, Thornycroft, Carter, Cross, and some half-dozen others, were crowded round Robert's table. William handed them the fossils and the microscope; told the men to amuse themselves with them for that night, and he would explain more about them on the morrow. He was ever anxious that the men should have some object of amusement as a rallying point on these evenings; anything to keep their interest .
 
Before the half-hour had expired, he was back at Mr. Ashley's. Proverbs had been given up, and Mary was at the piano. Mr. Ashley had been accompanying her on the , on which instrument he was a brilliant player, and when William entered she was singing a duet with Herbert Dare. Anna—disobedient Anna—was seated, listening with all her ears and heart to the music, her up-turned quite wonderful to look upon in its rapt delight.
 
"I think you could sing," spoke Henry Ashley to her, in an undertone, after watching her while the song lasted.
 
Anna shook her head. "I may not try," she said, raising her blue eyes to him for one moment, and then dropping them.
 
"The time may come when you may," returned Henry, in a deeper whisper.
 
She did not answer, she did not lift her eyes; but the faintest possible smile parted her lips—a smile which seemed to express a consciousness that perhaps that time might come. And Henry, shy and sensitive, stood apart and gazed upon her, his heart beating.
 
"Young lady," said William, advancing, "do you know that a special honour has been assigned me to-night? One that concerns you."
 
Anna raised her eyes now. She felt as much at ease with William as she did with her father or Patience. "What dost thee say, William? An honour?"
 
"That of seeing you safely home. I——"
 
"What's that for?" interrupted Anna. "Where's my father?"
 
"He is not at home this evening. And Patience did not care to send out Grace. I'll take care of you."
 
William could not but observe the sudden flush, the glow of pleasure, or what looked like pleasure, that overspread Anna's countenance at the information. "What's that for?" he thought, echoing her recent words. But Mary began to sing again, and his attention was diverted.
 
Ten o'clock was the signal for departure. As they were going out—William, Anna, and Herbert Dare, who took the opportunity to leave with them—Henry Ashley limped after them, and drew William aside in the hall.
 
"Honour bright, mind, my friend!"
 
William did not understand. "Honour bright, always," said he. "But what do you mean?"
 
"You'll not get making love to her on your way home!"
 
William could not help laughing. He turned his amused face full on Henry. "Be at rest. I would not care to make love to her, had I full leave and from the Quaker society, granted me in public meeting."
 
"Do you think I did not see her brightened countenance when you told her she was to go home with you?" retorted Henry.
 
"I saw it too. I conclude she was pleased that her father was not coming for her, little undutiful thing! However it may have been, rely upon it that brightening was not for me."
 
Pressing his hand warmly, with a pressure that no false friend ever gave, William hastened away. It was time. Herbert Dare and Anna had not waited for him, but were ever so far ahead.
 
"Very polite of you!" cried William, when he caught them up. "Anna, had you gone pitching into that part of the path they are mending, I should have been responsible, you know. You might have waited for me."
 
He spoke good-humouredly, making a joke of it. Herbert Dare did not appear to receive it as one. He retorted .
 
"Do you suppose I am not capable of taking care of Miss Lynn? As much so as you, at any rate."
 
"Possibly," coolly returned William, not losing his good-humoured tone. Herbert Dare had given Anna his arm. William walked near her on the other side. Thus they reached Mr. Lynn's.
 
"Good ni............