When the doctor was shown up to his patient, however, he found that Roy was not alone. He was in the company of the kinsman of his whom Mr. Lee had once met at dinner at the Hermitage.

Mr. Edington had not struck him with particular favour on that occasion, but he was pleased to see him at this juncture, the more so as Roy looked bright and animated.

"Good-morning, Frank," cried the boy, "you are just the man we wanted. Mr. Edington has been propounding a scheme to me, and we want your sanction for it."

66

I was suggesting to Roy that a change might do him good," explained Mr. Edington quietly, that is, if we can gain your approbation for the scheme. He tells me his brother cannot be back for some few weeks still, and that he finds home dull all alone. I thought if he could be entrusted to my care, we might go away somewhere together. Mr. Stratford, I hear, gave him full liberty to make his own arrangements during the weeks he was to be alone."

"And you would like to go, Roy, would you?" asked the young surgeon.

66

"I think I should," was the ready response, as my cousin is kind enough to wish it, and does not mind the trouble of me. I haven't been away for a long while, and September is a capital month for the sea."

"And where do you propose going?" asked Frank Lee, turning to the elder man.

"I thought of Brighton, as a pleasant, cheerful place and not over-crowded yet. But we can hardly be said to have made any definite plans so far. I only came yesterday to ask after Roy, and he kindly insisted on my staying the night. Seeing him still so pale and weak, it naturally occurred to me that change of air might be beneficial. I have a little spare time of my own on hand as it happens, and I could as well take him away to the sea as do anything else."

"Well, if Roy would like to go, and you are prepared to take him, I have no objection to sanction the plan," said Mr. Lee. "Only you must be careful of your charge and not let him walk much or overdo himself. He must keep his foot up a good many hours each day, and you must feed him up well. I dare say the sea air will give him a better appetite than he has here. When do you propose going?"

"As soon as you will let me move," cried Roy, who was beginning to look excited at the prospect. "I should like to go to-day."

No, not quite so fast as that," smiled Frank, who was examining the foot, and felt that the boy winced beneath his touch. "Not to-day, nor to-morrow either: but I think the day after you might try to make a move. It's well to take the fine weather whilst it lasts. And when you get to the sea, try what salt water will do for this unruly member; and I almost advise not attempting the whole journey in one day, but calling a halt at some half-way house. You're not up to very much fatigue or exertion yet."

"That will be easily managed," said Mr. Edington. "My own house lies on the road, and it will be a great pleasure to my wife to receive him there. They will all be delighted to put us

up for a night or two. If Roy will trust himself to me, I do not think he will repent it."

"I'm sure I shan't," was the eager answer. "I'm quite in the humour to see new people and places, and especially relations; and I want to come back to Marcus as strong as a horse. I'm awfully pleased you came when you did. We shall just have time for a nice little jaunt before I have to come home to receive Marcus. I'm so

glad you approve, Frank."

Mr. Lee did approve, though he would have preferred a companion for Roy about whom he knew a little more. The man, however, though somewhat under-bred and under-educated, seemed respectable enough, and really solicitous as to Roy's well-being. He was a relative of his, too, and one who had been to the house as Marcus Stratford's guest. It would be uncalled-for on his part to take exception to the man, simply because he was unprepossessing, especially when Roy was obviously pining for some kind of change.

"You must be careful of that boy," he said, on his last visit, as Mr. Edington accompanied him out of the room. "He had an attack on the lungs this summer, and he will very likely be susceptible to cold for some little time to come. He's not been quite himself ever since his mother's death several months back, and this accident has told upon him considerably. He wants care and watching and generous living. I believe sea air will pick him up faster than anything; but if you are not satisfied let me know, and I'll run down and see him. By-the-bye, where will you be?"

"I shall leave that very much to the boy; I will take him first to my own house, which lies in the direct route to the coast. We shall see then how he stands travelling and act accordingly. We have fine moorland air at our place, which stands right in the middle of miles of heath, and the sea is at no very prohibitive distance. He can go on there as soon as he chooses. He will be the one to settle that point."

Roy was much pleased to be going to visit his cousins the Edingtons, and though he by no means abandoned the idea of the Brighton visit, he began to wonder if he might not manage to get all the cousins to accompany him there. He gathered from many little things that they were not rich, and he thought it would be a very pleasant thing to contrive a holiday for them all. He had plenty of money just now, having spent nothing of his liberal allowance during the past months, and when he applied to the family solicitor, as Marcus had directed him to do, should he have a fancy for leaving home to try what change of air would do, he found himself supplied with funds in so liberal a fashion that he felt like a miniature Croesus. He said nothing of this to Mr. Edington, however, fearing to offend his sense of delicacy, but he built up many schemes of his own, and enjoyed them very much.

Vincent was able to say farewell in a much more happy frame of mind than he had anticipated, and he left Roy looking bright and gay in the anticipation of pleasure to come.

It was one of Roy's marked characteristics, his ability to banish disagreeable thoughts, and live in the enjoyment of the present whenever it was

sufficiently engrossing; and despite the troubled thoughts that had assailed him of late, he was as full of merriment and boyish high spirit as he had ever been in his life. If he had not conquered his sense of injury, at least he had pushed it into the background of his thoughts, and with so many reminders of his brother's liberality and consideration towards him it would be hard to cherish unkind or distrustful thoughts.

The proposed visit to his cousin's house filled his mind to the exclusion of all else, and no one was more eager to face the fatigue and possible discomfort of the journey than the boy himself. He was only afraid he might give trouble to his hosts, but Roger Edington reassured him on that point.

"We are rather rough-and-ready people, Roy; Windmill House is not at all like the Hermitage, you must understand, and our ways will not be much like anything you have been accustomed to here; but there will be a warm welcome waiting for you, and you need not be afraid of giving trouble. You will have four very willing slaves in your cousins from the first. The more you keep them running about in your service the better they will be pleased."

And Roy, who had all the instinctive love of variety natural to youth, fancied that he should enjoy a thorough change in his manner of life more than anything else. He saw everything couleur de rose, and was all aglow with excitement and delight when once he found himself en route for Windmill House.

"I wonder how long it will last," was the somewhat grim unspoken thought of Roger Edington.

CHAPTER XXVIII.—INTRODUCTIONS.

Roy found travelling more trying than he had expected, and was very glad that the railway journey was quickly over. Although he could hobble about pretty well by means of a stick, the jarring of wheels was excessively disagreeable to him, and he was much relieved when the train drew up at the insignificant station of Thorne.

A lumbering fly seemed the only conveyance to be had, and although Roy had not expected his kinsman to keep a carriage, he found it in his heart to wish that the three miles that lay between the station and Windmill House could be shortened, or that some better vehicle could be obtained. However, he would not hurt his host's feelings by a single word of complaint, and resigned himself to the inevitable with praiseworthy resolution. Things were better than he had expected; the fly was easier than he had ventured to hope, the horse took his time, and the road was fairly smooth. What gave him most uneasiness was the change of manner that had gradually come over Roger Edington. His former geniality seemed to have vanished. He was silent and gloomy, and took but the barest notice of his companion. In reality it was but an involuntary relapse into his ordinary self, but to Roy, who had always known him different, it appeared as if some unconscious

211

affront must have been put upon his kinsman. He racked his brain to try and find out what he could have said or done to vex him, and was resolved that he would atone for the blunder by every possible means in his power.

He had hardly thought to spare for the strange character of the country through which they were passing-strange, at least, to eyes used to the well-wooded pastoral regions in which Roy's home lay; but when at length the fly turned off from the main road into a less wellused track, he did begin to look about him with surprise at the desolate waste, until the stoppage of the vehicle before the large, plain stone house caused him to realise that his destination was already arrived at.

At once, as it seemed to him, a strange sort of tumult arose, similar to, and yet somehow altogether different from, anything he had witnessed before, even at the noisiest receptions he had ever received from the Kynaston household. Two big lads rushed down the steps and tore open the door of the fly, both talking at the top of their voices, contradicting each other, hustling Roy about in a fashion most unpleasant to him just then, and pouring upon him such a torrent of questions and information that to attempt to speak was utterly out of the range of possibility. He could only smile, try to feel pleased at this boisterous style of welcome, and mount the steps to the top, where two girls stood watching him with unrestrained, wild-eyed curiosity.

"You are our cousin, Roy, I suppose," said the elder of the two, holding out her hand and speaking rather bluntly. "We are very glad you have come. We are Mildred, and Nellieperhaps papa has told you that."

Roy shook hands with them both, and said it was very nice to have so many new cousins; but Roger's voice from behind, speaking in loud and rather angry tones to his children, caused the girls to shrink back, half sullenly, half timidly, whilst the boys began hauling the luggage into the house with a great deal of unnecessary noise and rough horse-play.

Roy was growing bewildered by a scene so utterly unlike anything he had ever witnessed before; the bare, untidy hall, the uncarpeted stone stairs, the plain, poverty-stricken look of the girls' serge dresses, and the rough aspect of the boys-all these things struck him as very strange, and even more strange still was the rough manner of the father, and the utter absence of any kind of greeting between him and the children, whom he had not seen for several days. They took no notice of one another as it seemed, all the interest being centred on the new-comer; but if the children did not love their father, neither did they obey him, for his curt command to them all to go upstairs was entirely disregarded; they only drew back a little into the inner part of the hall, and continued to gaze at Roy with a steadfastness that was not ill-bred, only because it was so entirely spontaneous and childish. It seemed as if their eyes were altogether fascinated and riveted.

"You had better come and see my wife and sister," said Roger Edington, when Roy was fairly

inside the door. "I suppose they are in the drawing-room, girls?"

Roy would certainly not have guessed, had he not been told before, that the bare, untidy room into which he was now ushered could be dignified by that name; but he had only time for a hasty look round him before he was called upon to go through introductions of a somewhat more formal character than those with his new cousins; not that there was any particular ceremony in the manner of his elder hosts.

"This is the boy, Caroline," said his kinsman, in the blunt abrupt way that seemed to have come over him under the influence of the surroundings of his own home. "Roy, let me introduce you to my wife, Mrs. Edington, and to my sister Joan," and Roger moved away, watching and listening without attempting to join farther in the scene. Nobody, however, seemed to want him.

66

How do you do, Roy?" said Caroline Edington, with as much of cordiality as her naturally cold manner could assume. 66 We are very glad to make your acquaintance at last, and to welcome you to Windmill House. I hope we shall be able to persuade you to pay us a visit here, though I am bound to admit we have not many attractions to tempt you with. I hope you are feeling better again? We were sorry to hear of your illness. You are not looking very strong yet."

"I am quite well, thank you, except my foot; and change of air is sure to be the best kind of medicine, they say. It is very kind of you to take me in, Mrs. Edington. It is pleasant to make acquaintance with one's relations. Is this another cousin?" and he turned to Joan, who was standing silently by, and gave her his hand with a kindling smile. Her cold quiet face attracted him, he hardly knew why; he felt instinctively that she was to be trusted.

"I am your cousin Joan," she said, "I remember you when you were a tiny little boy, Roy."

"Do you?" he asked with interest, adding laughingly, "I'm afraid I don't remember you, Cousin Joan."

"Perhaps you will like to see your room now," said Caroline Edington, after a few more commonplace remarks had been exchanged-conversation would not flow easily, somehow, though she was anxious to please, and Roy to be pleased. "You will be sure to find some of the children outside eager to show it you. They have been wild with excitement about this visit. I hope you will be comfortable; but we can't do things here in the way you have been used to.”

Roy coloured quickly.

"I am sure I shall be quite comfortable," he answered. 66 'It is very kind of you to take me in at all."

He moved to the door as he spoke, and was at once seized upon by the quartet outside.

"Come along! What an age you've been!" "Whatever could you find to talk about to them?"

"Come and see your room and ours. We'll show you everything!"

"What makes you so lame? Can't you get

on without a stick?" This more quietly from Mildred.

"Not very easily," answered Roy, who had lost no time in gaining possession of his trusty staff, which he had left in the hall. He had already been walking and standing about much more than he had done on any one day since his accident, and he was a little surprised, after having heard Frank Lee's many cautions to Mr. Edington, to find that he was not expected to play the invalid at all here. In some ways, perhaps, it was something of a relief to feel that there was no likelihood of "fuss on his account, but he could not quite make this indifference tally with his host's protestations of care and watchfulness made only four-and-twenty hours ago.

Nellie looked at him with a sort of shy sympathy in her blue eyes.

"I'm lame, too," she said timidly. always been lame, I think."

"I've

He smiled kindly, and held out his hand to her. "Then we must help each other along. We'll take things more leisurely than those two young monkeys up there."

For Archie and Dick had already precipitated themselves up the staircase, and were hanging grimacing over the rails like a veritable pair of monkeys.

"I wish you boys would either behave yourselves decently, or else go away," said Mildred sharply. She had been struck by the air of refinement and good-breeding in Roy, and was painfully conscious of the contrast presented by all of them, and particularly by the boys. Mildred was very observant, though she could not have defined the impressions her eyes took in.

The boys paid no heed to her words, save by an increase of noisy tumult. No one paid much heed to them or their antics, and the little procession reached in time the room allotted to Roy.

The girls had been very busy over it for days, and were immensely proud of their handiwork. They thought that for a bed-room it was quite luxurious in its appointments; for there was a carpet on the floor, a faded rug before the hearth, some old moreen curtains to the window and a cloth upon the table in the middle of the room. They had none of these things in their bare rooms, for they had been brought up with the most Spartan-like simplicity; but to Roy's eyes the place looked altogether poor and sordid. The servants at the Hermitage were more sumptuously lodged than that.

However, he was far too well-bred to show the least sign of dismay; indeed, his regret was not personal, for, as he mentally said, it mattered little enough for him; he was only sorry to see signs of such poverty about his relative's house, and wished there was anything he could do to help him.

The boys were too noisy and volatile to stay any length of time; but the girls were so anxious to make friends and be useful that at last he let them unfasten his portmanteaus and unpack his things for him, whilst he sat still in what Nelly called the "easy chair," and amused himself very much over their curiosity and surprise at the character of his wardrobe, and the novelty or