CHAPTER XII.

Travelling with every luxury money could procure, Lord Elston hurries to the sick bed of his mother, for he loves her as I have before said, as well as he can love anyone who has spoilt him from babyhood; who has given way to him in everything good or bad; who has never chidden him for frown and sulky looks. He loves her but does not respect her. How can he? when his will has ruled her as well as the rest of the household.

He arrives at last at the wayside station, and after taking the reins from his groom, asks how his mother is?

"She is better, my lord, than she were last night."

Then they drive along the country lanes in silence, for Lord Elston never talks to his inferiors, as it pleases him to call his servants; never interests himself about them or their

families, but regards them simply as human machines which add greatly to his comfort and laziness.

At length the park gates are entered and passed, while in the hall stands the old family doctor ready to give a grave welcome to the master of the castle, who is no favourite with the simple-minded old man who has known him from babyhood.

"Well! and how is the mater, Dr. Bradley?"

"Better than she was, Richard, but nevertheless far from well, for well she will never be in this world," and the old doctor adds not one word of regret, for he is so essentially truthful that he would rather offend any individual than say one word more or less than he felt, and Lady Elston is no greater favourite with him than her son. He is gruff and brusque, this old man, and yet one and all rely upon him, for though he seldom enters a church he is nevertheless a true christian-one whose life is ruled by the simple words, "Do unto thy neighbour as thou would he should do unto thee."

H

"I am sorry to hear this; what do you think is the cause of this sudden stroke, doctor?" "Well, Richard, partly age and partly worry; for your mother has been worrying about something although she will not confess such is the case to me. Keep her quiet, let her have every attention; she will not be any trouble long, and if you will take my advice you will telegraph for that little wife of yours; she will be the very one to do her good. You have a treasure, Dick, see that you guard it carefully and well."

The old doctor dare say more to this wilful ill-tempered man than any one, but even he sometimes had to suffer with a frown, although no angry word had ever passed between them. "Oh! Mable's well enough," he answers sulkily; "but I think that you all make a great deal too much fuss about her."

"All right, Dick, that's what you think. We'll see who's right. Good-night." "Goodnight, doctor." He turns round and goes slowly up the staircase to his mother's room, muttering to himself "I am perfectly tired of their praises about Mable. What they all see in her to rave about I cannot imagine. I wish I had never

listened to mother, but had

had my way and

If she is poor she

married Gladys Thornhill. If she is

has a temper, and I like it for a change; it gets so awfully monotonous to feel that you can say or do anything without Mable being in the least degree angry."

He turns the handle of the bedroom door. There, on the bed, lies the woman who had boasted not a fortnight ago that she would never give up anything for Mable; who had never given a single thought towards welcoming home the girl she had so wronged. With all the strength she possessed she was prepared to fight and not yield her supposed place without a struggle, but another had decreed it otherwise, "For He taketh down the mighty from their seats, and He doth exalt the humble and meek." She was going to rule, she had boasted. No! not so, Lady Elston; you it will be to plead, yea! and even crave for one word of forgiveness before the end comes-the sad end of a life mis-spent, wasted-a life used to spread evil influence, a dull, dark blot instead of a bright shining light.

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Well, mother!" (he bends over her, at the

same time wondering that it has never struck him before how very old she looks), how are you now?"

"So you've come, Richard. I never thought she would let you. I quite expected I should die here alone and forgotten," she answers with an invalid's irritability. "I thought that would be her revenge."

"You mistake Mable, mother; she is never angry, much more revengeful. Although I am selfish and ill-tempered, she is always patient.” (Sotte voce: "I only wish she weren't sometimes, just for a change.")

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Richard, I shall not be here long.

How

little did I think such would be the case when, only the week before last, I made up my mind. always to be mistress here, and govern this household to my own liking."

By this time the dutiful son has tired of the sick room, and leaves his mother alone, satisfied that he has done his duty to the invalid by standing and fidgeting in her room for at least ten minutes. So this is the reward for all her