prudent. But, O Griffith, as I hope to be saved, it was the imprudence of innocence and over-confidence."
"Mistress," said Griffith, in a stern, yet agitated voice, "be advised, and leave all this: rouse not a man's sleeping wrath. Let bygones be bygones."
Mrs. Gaunt rose, and said, faintly, "So be it. I must go, sir, and give some orders for your entertainment."
"O, don't put yourself about for me," said Griffith: "I am not the master of this house."
Mrs. Gaunt's lip trembled, but she was a match for him. "Then are you my guest," said she; "and my credit is concerned in your comfort."
She made him a courtesy, as if he were a stranger, and marched to the door, concealing, with great pride and art, a certain trembling of her knees.
At the door she found Ryder, and bade her follow, much to that lady's disappointment; for she desired a tête-à-tête with Griffith, and an explanation.
As soon as the two women were out of Griffith's hearing, the mistress laid her hand on the servant's arm, and, giving way to her feelings, said, all in a flutter: "Child, if I have been a good mistress to thee, show it now. Help me keep him in the house till Father Francis comes."
"I undertake to do so much," said Ryder, firmly. "Leave it to me, mistress."
Mrs. Gaunt threw her arms round Ryder's neck and kissed her.
It was done so ardently, and by a woman hitherto so dignified and proud, that Ryder was taken by surprise, and almost affected.
As for the service Mrs. Gaunt had asked of her, it suited her own designs.
"Mistress," said she, "be ruled by me; keep out of his way a bit, while I get Miss Rose ready. You understand."
"Ah! I have one true friend in the house," said poor Mrs. Gaunt. She then confided in Ryder, and went away to give her own orders for Griffith's reception.
Ryder found little Rose, dressed her to perfection, and told her her dear papa was come home. She then worked upon the child's mind in that subtle way known to women, so that Rose went down stairs loaded and primed, though no distinct instructions had been given her.
As for Griffith, he walked up and down, uneasy; and wished he had stayed at the "Packhorse." He had not bargained for all these emotions; the peace of mind he had enjoyed for some months seemed trickling away.
"Mercy, my dear," said he to himself, "'t will be a dear penny to me, I doubt."
Then he went to the window, and looked at the lawn, and sighed. Then he sat down, and thought of the past.
Whilst he sat thus moody, the door opened very softly, and a little cherubic face, with blue eyes and golden hair, peeped in. Griffith started. "Ah!" cried Rose, with a joyful scream; and out flew her little arms, and away she came, half running, half dancing, and was on his knee in a moment, with her arms round his neck.
"Papa! papa!" she cried. "O my dear, dear, dear, darling papa!" And she kissed and patted his cheek again and again.
Her innocent endearments moved him to tears. "My pretty angel!" he sighed: "my lamb!"
"How your heart beats! Don't cry, dear papa. Nobody is dead: only we thought you were. I'm so glad you are come home alive. Now we can take off this nasty black: I hate it."
"What, 't is for me you wear it, pretty one?"
"Ay. Mamma made us. Poor mamma has been so unhappy. And that reminds me: you are a wicked man, papa. But I love you all one for that. It tis so dull when everybody is good like mamma; and she makes me dreadfully good too; but now you are come back, there will be a little, little wickedness again, it is to be hoped. Aren't you glad you are not dead, and are come home instead? I am."
"I am glad I have seen thee. Come,
