walked on tiptoe, like a pair of respectable
married burglars. Mr. Taffey had with difficulty
been prevailed upon not to leave his boots
at the foot of the stairs. Katy followed, with
a face and air outwardly calm and composed
enough, but a deadly pallor succeeded to the
blush with which she had acknowledged the
squire's greeting, and she found herself
compelled to accept one of the chairs he had hastily
placed for her mother and herself. There she
forced herself to sit, with a cold judicial air,
waiting for her doom.

The squire had hardly seated himself in his
accustomed place, when Rochford, summoned
by the old servant, made his appearance.

"Sit down, Rochford," said his father, in a
conciliatory tone. "Our last two interviews have
not had results as satisfactory as I could desire."

"The third time is proverbially lucky, sir,"
said the young man, smiling. "I am here to
know your pleasure."

"My pleasure is your happiness," returned
the squire. "Make me your friend, Roch.
Have no mental reservation with me in regard to
what I am about to say. Will you promise?"

"I do, sir," said the young man, after a
moment's pause.

"Enough. What are your feelings—what
your object—with respect to Katy Taffey?"

There was a slight movement behind the
screen, but neither gentlemen observed it.

Rochford had hesitated for an instant, then
he said: "Will you, in your turn, promise me,
my dear father, if my answer does not please
you, to restrain your anger?"

"I will, Roch. On my honour, by your
mother's memory," said the squire, with feeling,
"I will."

"Then, sir," said Rochford, rising, "I repeat
my twice-made declaration. I do not love the
girl; and, if I did, such are the prejudices I
was born with, that I would not marry her."

"You are a greater scoundrel than I took
you for!" said the squire, in a distinct but
perfectly controlled voice. "No heroics, if you
please," he added; for Rochford had sprung
from his chair, as if his father had dealt him a
blow. "Leave me, and blame yourself for
what may follow."

Rochford looked silently at his father, and
quitted the room.

The squire flung the screen aside.

But the girl, with a gesture almost of alarm,
motioned him from her. She strove to utter
some words, but failed, and fell helplessly into
her mother's arms.

"What—what is this? Is she not content
yet?" asked the perplexed squire. "Can
tongue speak plainer? Tell me, Taffey, what
can I do more?"

The smith passed his hand through his iron-
grey locks.

"Well, squire—begging pardon," he said—
"you knows I'm a houtspoken man, and, since
you puts it to us wot you mought do, my
missis thinks, and so do I, and we've been all
a-thinking on'y we didn't like for to be troublesome
—that you'd better try the screen again,
and just see what t' other 'll say!"

"T' other!" ejaculated the squire.

There was no time for further explanation,
nor any need to replace the screen. Gerald,
resolved to confess all to his father, entered the
study at that moment for that very purpose.

Words were superfluous then. The eyes,
the cheeks, of the young lovers told everything
—everything that was essential to the squire's
enlightenment. It was left for after-explanation
how the incidental borrowing of a light-
brown paletôt, by a gentleman who generally
sported a dark one, had led to such serious
complications and important discoveries.

The squire, frank and generous as he was
quick and impulsive, accepted a solution far
more apt and seemly than that he had, for a
brief space, had in contemplation, and heartily
lent himself to the fulfilment of his own
prophecy. There was a marriage at Llbwyddcoed;
and, if it was not a merry one, we, who
were among the bidden, know not what mirth
means. Patrician and plebeian guests united on
this occasion in such harmony, and with such a
community of good breeding, that it was almost
impossible to say which was which. It was,
however, noticeable that neither my Lord
Leatherhead nor the Honourable Mr. Castleton
was present.

Mr. Rochford, though gay and condescending
at the festivity, had not, at that period, wholly
forgiven his brother's choice. It was remarked
that he never again wore that fawn-coloured
paletôt which had indirectly contributed to the
wooing of Katy, and shortly after presented it
to his valet. It is to be presumed, however, that
he has got over the prejudices he was "born
with," being now engaged to a very amiable girl,
the only daughter and heiress of David Black
Dymond, Esq., the well-known millionnaire, who
commenced his useful and prosperous career as
a common miner at half-a-crown a day.

Some words caught our ear, as we wandered
through the marriage throng, spoken by two
gentlemen in very holiday garments, who were
half concealed by a column in the hall. They
were Mr. Apreece and Mr. Taffey.

"Nunc est bibendum," remarked the former,
and there was a clinking of glasses, as in good
fellowship.

"Werry much so," returned Mr. Taffey, "if
by bend 'em means 'be civil.' If all great folks,
like squire, would bend 'em a little more,
'twould be better going for all."

                  HOLIDAY ROMANCE,
                BY CHARLES DICKENS,
  Will be concluded in the MONTHLY PART for April.