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ETHEL CHURCHILL.
87

social hours, there was a sort of subdued sadness in her eyes; and she never had the glad, frank manner of one whose heart is at ease. Her very fondness for her son had something mournful in it; she seemed to fear the indulgence of all earthly affections. Still, nothing could be more perfect than the union of herself and her child. It was touching to see them together; for, if this cold world has one tie more holy, and more redeemed from all selfish feeling than another, it is that which binds the widow and the orphan together.

His dress changed, and his dinner over, Norbourne followed Mrs. Courtenaye to the drawing-room, where she had left his uncle and cousin. Their way lay through the hall, where hung the helm of many a bold forefather, and arms that had seen service even in the crusades.

"I cannot help, dearest mother," said he, half seriously, half smiling, "having a little respect for myself when I return home. My noble ancestors have bequeathed to me an honourable name:-—well, I will at least strive