whativer else they be, Elizabeth, and t' best I hev is for them."

He had risen as he spoke; the puppies were barking and gamboling at
his feet, and Fanny watching his face with dignified eagerness. They
knew he was going to walk, and were asking to go with him. "Be still
wi' you, Rattle and Tory!--Yes, yes, Fanny!--and Elizabeth, open up
t' varry best rooms, and give them a right hearty welcome. Where's
Antony?"

"Somewhere in the house."

"Hedn't ta better ask him what to do? He knows ivery thing."

There was a touch of sarcasm in the voice, but Elizabeth was too much
occupied to notice it; and as the squire and his dogs took the road
to the park, she turned, with the letter still open in her hand, and
went thoughtfully from room to room, seeking her brother. There was
no deeper motive in her thought than what was apparent; her cares were
simply those of hospitality. But when a life has been bounded by
household hopes and anxieties, they assume an undue importance, and
since her mother's death, two years previously, there had been no
company at Hallam. This was to be Elizabeth's first effort of active
hospitality.

She found Antony in the library reading "The Gentleman's Magazine,"
or, perhaps, using it for a sedative; for he was either half asleep,
or lost in thought. He moved a little petulantly when his sister spoke.
One saw at a glance that he had inherited his father's fine physique
and presence, but not his father's calm, clear nature. His eyes were
restless, his expression preoccupied, his manner haughty. Neither was