being deep lines about them, and also about his mouth.

This nobleman had for Roxholm a great attraction--his voice, his
bearing, and his gentle gravity all seemed to convey a thing which
reached the boy's heart. On his own part the childless man had from the
first felt for his little kinsman a pathetic affection. Had fate been
kind, instead of cruel, the son of his own Alice might have so bloomed
and grown stalwart and fair. He liked to talk with the child even when
he was but a few years old, and as time passed, and he shot up into a
handsome, tall lad, their friendship became a singularly close one.
When my lord was at Camylott the country people became accustomed to
seeing the two ride through the lanes together, the gamekeepers in the
park were familiar with the sight of the elder gentleman and the young
Marquess walking side by side down unfrequented woodland paths engaged
in earnest conversation, his lordship's hand oftenest resting on the
young shoulder as they went.

There was a subject of which these two talked often, and with great
interest, it being one for which Roxholm had always felt a love, since
the days when he had walked through the picture gallery with his nurse,
looking up with childish delight at the ladies and gentlemen in the
family portraits, asking to be told stories of their doings, and
requiring that it be explained to him why they wore costumes which
seemed strange to him. Mistress Halsell had been able to tell him many
stories of them, as also had his father and mother and Mr. Fox, his
governour, and these stories had so pleased him that he had pondered
upon them until their heroes and heroines seemed his familiar friends,
and made of as firm flesh and real blood as the ladies and gentlemen
who were his kinswomen and kinsmen to-day. It had always been his
pleasure to remember that the stories to be told of them were such fine