‘No, no, Redgie, come away, leave them for Maurice to try again,’ said his father.

‘The brute, he stung me,’ cried Reginald, knocking down a wasp or two as he came down.  ‘What is this?’ added he, as he stumbled over something at the bottom of the slope.  ’Oh!  Maurice’s basket; look here—­laudanum—­did he mean to poison the wasps?’

‘No,’ said Jane, ‘to cure their stings.’

‘The poor unhappy quiz!’ cried Reginald.

While the others were busy over a nest, Mr. Mohun asked Emily how the boy got at the medicine chest.  Emily looked confused, and said she supposed Jane had given him a bottle.

‘Jane is too young to be trusted there,’ said Mr. Mohun, ’I thought you knew better; do not let the key be out of your possession again.’

After a few more nests had been taken in the usual manner, they returned to the house.  Maurice was lying on the sofa reading the Penny Magazine, from which he raised his eyes no more that evening, in spite of all the jokes which flew about respecting wounded knights, courage, and the balsam of Fierabras.  He called Jane to teach her how flies were made, and as soon as tea was over he went to bed.  Reginald, after many yawns, prepared to follow his example, and as he was wishing his sisters good-night, Emily said, ’Now, Redgie, do not go out at such a preposterous hour to-morrow morning.’

‘What is that to you?’ was Reginald’s courteous inquiry.

‘I do not wish to see every one fast asleep to-morrow evening,’ said Emily, and she looked at her cousin, whose head was far back over his chair.

‘He is a Trojan,’ said Reginald.

‘Is a Trojan better than a Spartan?’ asked Ada, meditatively.

‘Helen thought so,’ said Claude.

‘"When Greek meets Greek, then comes the tug of war,"’ muttered the Marquis.

‘You are all talking Greek,’ said Jane.

‘Arabic,’ said Claude.

As far as it could be comprehended, Lord Rotherwood’s answer related to Maurice and the wasps.

‘There,’ said Emily, ’what is to be done if he is in that condition to-morrow?’

‘I am not asleep; what makes you think I am?’

‘I wish you would sit in that great chair,’ said Emily, ’I am afraid you will break your neck; you look so uncomfortable, I cannot bear to see you.’

‘I never was more comfortable in my life,’ said Lord Rotherwood, asleep while finishing the sentence; but this time, happily with his elbows on the table, and his head in a safer position.

The next day was spent rather more rationally.  Lord Rotherwood met with a book of Irish Tales, with which he became so engrossed that he did not like to leave it when Emily and Claude were ready to ride to Devereux Castle with him.  When there he was equally eager and vehement about each matter that came under consideration, and so many presented themselves, that Emily began to be in agonies lest she should