"Not in the least. Fred would let no one come near him but his mother and me; you could not have saved either of us an hour's nursing then, whereas now you can keep Fred in order, and take care of Mary, if she will suffer it, and that she will do better from you than from any one else.”

They were now reaching the entrance of Sutton Leigh Lane, and Queen Bee was called upon for the full history of the accident, which, often as it had been told by letter, must again be narrated in all its branches. Even her father had never had time to hear it completely; and there was so much to ask and to answer on the merely external circumstances, that they had not begun to enter upon feelings and thoughts when they arrived at the gate of the paddock, which was held open by Dick and Willie, excessively delighted to see aunt Geoffrey.

In a few moments more she was affectionately welcomed by old Mrs. Langford, whose sentiments with regard to the two Beatrices were of a curiously varying and always opposite description. When her daughter-in-law was at a distance, she secretly regarded, with a kind of respectful aversion, both her talents, her learning, and the fashionable life to which she had been accustomed; but in her presence, the winning, lively simplicity of her manners completely dispelled all these prejudices in an instant, and she loved her most cordially for her own sake, as well as because she was Geoffrey's wife. On the contrary, the younger Beatrice, while absent, was the dear little granddaughter,-the Queen of Bees, the cleverest of creatures; and, while present, it has already been shown how constantly the two tempers fretted each other, or had once done so, though now, so careful had busy Bee lately been, that there had been only one collision between them for the last ten days, and that was caused by her strenuous attempts to convince grandmamma that Fred was not yet fit for boiled chicken and calves' foot jelly.

Mrs. Langford's greetings were not half over when Henrietta and her mamma hastened down stairs to embrace dear aunt Geoffrey. "My dear Mary, I am so glad to be come to you at last." "Thank you, oh! thank you, Beatrice. How Fred will enjoy having you now!"

"Is he tired?" asked uncle Geoffrey.

"No, not at all; he seems to be very comfortable. He has been talking of Queen Bee's promised visit. Do you like to go up now, my dear?"

Queen Bee consented eagerly, though with some trepidation, for she had not seen her cousin since his accident, and besides she did not know how to begin about Philip Carey. She ran to take off her bonnet, while Henrietta went to announce her coming. She knocked at the door, Henrietta opened it, and coming in she saw Fred lying on the sofa by the fire, in his dressing gown, stretched out in that languid listless manner that betokens great feebleness.

There were the purple marks of leeches on his temples; his hair had been cropped close to his head; his face was long and thin, without a shade of colour, but his eyes looked large and bright; and he smiled and held out his hand. "Ah! Queenie, how d'ye do?"

"How d'ye do, Fred? I am glad you are better."

"You see I have the asses' ears after all," said he, pointing to his own, which were very prominent in his shorn and shaven condition.

Beatrice could not very easily call up a smile, but she made an effort and succeeded, while she said, "I should have complimented you on the increased wisdom of your looks. I did not know the shape of your head was so like papa's."

"Is Aunt Geoffrey come?" asked Fred.

"Yes," said his sister; "but mamma thinks you had better not see her till to-morrow."

“I wish Uncle Geoffrey was not going!" said Fred.

Nobody

else has the least notion of making one tolerably comfortable." 'Oh, your mamma, Fred!" said Queen Bee.

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"O yes, mamma, of course! But then she is getting fagged.” "Mamma says she is quite unhappy to have kept him so long from his work in London," said Henrietta: "but I do not know what we should have done without him."

"I do not know what we shall do now," said Fred, in a languid and doleful tone.

The Queen Bee, thinking this a capital opportunity, spoke with almost alarmed eagerness, "O yes, Fred, you will get on famously; you will enjoy having my mamma so much, and you are so much better already, and Philip Carey manages you so well

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Manages!" said Fred, “ay, and I'll tell you how, Queenie, just as the man managed his mare when he fed her on a straw a day. I believe he thinks I am a ghool, and can live on a grain of rice. I only wish he knew himself what starvation is. Look here you can almost see the fire through my hand, and if I do but lift up my head, the whole room is in a merry-go-round. And that is nothing but weakness; there is nothing else on earth the matter with me, except that I am starved down to the strength of a midge!"

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Well, but of course he knows," said Busy Bee, he has had an excellent education, and he must know." "To be sure he does, perfectly well: he is a sharp fellow, and knows how to keep a patient when he has got one.'

"How can you talk such nonsense, Fred. One comfort is, that it is a sign you are getting well, or you would not have spirits to do it."

"I am talking no nonsense," said Fred, sharply, "I am as serious as possible."

"But you can't really think that if Philip was capable of acting in such an atrocious way that papa would not find it out, and the

other doctor too."

"What! when that man gets I don't know how many guineas from mamma every time he comes, do you think that it is for his interest that I should get well?”

"My dear Fred," interposed his sister, " 'you are exciting yourself, and that is so very bad for you."

"I do assure you, Henrietta, you would find it very little exciting to be shut up in this room with half a teaspoonful of wishy washy pudding twice a day, and all just to fill Mr. Philip Carey's pockets! Now there was old Clarke at Rocksand, he had some feeling for one, poor old fellow; but this man, not the slightest compunction has he; and I am ready to kick him out of the room when I hear that silky voice of his trying to be gen-tee-eel, and condoling, and those boots-Oh! busy Bee, those boots; whenever he makes a step, I always hear them say, ‘O what a pretty fellow I am!"

"You seem to be very merry here, my dears," said Aunt Mary, coming in, "but I am afraid you will tire yourself, Freddy; I heard your voice even before I opened the door."

Fred was silent, a little ashamed, for he had sense enough not absolutely to believe all that he had been saying, and his mother, sitting down, began to talk to the visitor, “Well, my little Queen, we have seen very little of you of late, but we shall be very sorry to lose you. I suppose your mamma will have all your letters, and Henrietta must not expect any, but we shall want very much to know how you get on with Aunt Susan and her little dog."

"O very well, I dare say," said Beatrice, rather absently, for she was looking at her aunt's delicate fragile form, and thinking of what her father had been saying.

"And Queenie," continued her aunt, earnestly, "you must take great care of your papa,-make him rest, and listen to your music, and read story books instead of going back to his work all the evening."

"To be sure I shall, aunt Mary, as much as I possibly can.” "But Bee," said Fred, "you don't mean that you are going to be shut up with that horrid old Lady Susan all this time. Why don't you stay here, and let her take care of herself."

"Mamma would not like that, and besides, to do her justice, she is really ill, Fred," said Beatrice,

"It is too bad, now I am just getting better, if they would let me, I mean," said Fred, "just when I could enjoy having you, and now there you go off to that old woman. It is a downright

shame."

"So it is, Fred," said Queen Bee, gaily, but not coquettishly, as once she would have answered him, "a great shame in you not

to have learned to feel for other people, now you know what it is to be ill yourself."

"That is right, Bee," said aunt Mary, smiling, "tell him he ought to be ashamed of having monopolized you all so long, and spoilt all the comfort of your household. I am sure I am," added she, her eyes filling with tears, as she affectionately patted Beatrice's hand.

Queen Bee's heart was very full, but she knew that to give way to the expression of her feelings would be hurtful to Fred, and she only pressed her aunt's long thin fingers very earnestly, and turned her face to the fire, while she struggled down the rising emotion. There was a little silence, and when they began to talk again, it was of the engravings at which Fred had just been looking. The visit lasted till the dressing bell rang, when Beatrice was obliged to go, and she shook hands with Fred, saying cheerfully, "Well, good-bye, I hope you will be better friends with the doctors next time I see you."

"Never will I like one inch of a doctor, never!" repeated Fred, as she left the room, and ran to snatch what moments she could with her mamma in the space allowed for dressing.

Grandmamma was happy that evening, for except poor Frederick's own place, there were no melancholy gaps at the dinnertable. He had Bennet to sit with him, and besides there was within call the confidential old man-servant, who had lived so many years at Rocksand, and in whom both Fred and his mother placed considerable dependence.

Everything looked like recovery, Mrs. Frederick Langford came down and talked and smiled like her own sweet self; Mrs. Geoffrey Langford was ready to hear all the news, old Mr. Langford was quite in spirits again, Henrietta was bright and lively. The thought of long days in London with Lady Susan, and of long evenings with no mamma, and with papa either writing or at his chambers, began from force of contrast to seem doubly like banishment to poor little Queen Bee, but whatever faults she had, she was no repiner. "I deserved it," said she to herself, "and surely I ought to bear my share of the trouble my wilfulness has occasioned. Besides, with even one little bit of papa's company I am only too well off.”

So she smiled, and answered grandpapa in his favourite style, so that no one would have guessed from her demeanour that a task had been imposed upon her which she so much disliked, and in truth her thoughts were much more on others than on herself. She saw all hopeful and happy about Fred, and as to her aunt, when she saw her as usual with all her playful gentleness, she could not think that there was anything seriously amiss with her, or if there was, mamma would find it out and set it all to rights. Then how soothing and comforting, now that the first acute pain of remorse was over, was that affectionate kindness, which, in every little ges

ture and word aunt Mary had redoubled to her ever since the accident.

Fred was all this time lying on his sofa, very glad to rest after so much talking, weak, dizzy, and languid, and throwing all the blame of his uncomfortable sensations on Philip Carey and the starvation system, but still perhaps not without thoughts of a less discontented nature,.for when Mr. Geoffrey Langford came to help him to bed, he said, as he watched the various arrangements his uncle was for the last time sedulously making for his comfort, "Uncle Geoffrey, I ought to thank you very much; I am afraid I have been a great plague to you."

Perhaps Fred did not say this in all sincerity, for any one but uncle Geoffrey would have completely disowned the plaguing, and he fully expected him to do so, but his uncle had a stern regard for truth, coupled with a courtesy which left it no more harshness than was salutary.

“Anything for your good, my dear sir," said he with a smile. "You are welcome to plague me as much as you like, only remember that your mamma is not quite so tough."

"Well, I do try to be considerate about her," said Fred. "I mean to make her rest as much as possible: Henrietta and I have been settling how to save her."

"You could save her more than all, Fred, if you would spare her discussions."

Fred held his tongue, for though his memory was rather cloudy about the early part of his illness, he did remember having seen her look greatly harassed one day lately when he had been arguing against Philip Carey.

Uncle Geoffrey proceeded to gather up some of the outlines which Henrietta had left on the sofa, "I like those very much," said Fred, "especially the Fight with the Dragon."

"You know Schiller's poem on it?" said uncle Geoffrey. "Yes, Henrietta has it in German."

"Well it is what I should especially recommend to your consideration."

"I am afraid it will be long enough before I am able to go out on a dragon-killing expedition," said Fred, with a weary helpless sigh.

"Fight the dragon at home, then, Freddy. Now is the time for

"The duty, hardest to fulfil,

To learn to yield our own self-will."

"There is very little hasty pudding in the case," said Fred, rather disconsolately, and at the same time rather drolly, and with a sort of resolution of this kind, "I will try then, I will not bother