“Did you know they were going, Henrietta?” asked Uncle Geoffrey, rather sternly.

“No!  I thought they meant to sent Alex.  But O! uncle, do you think there is any danger?” exclaimed she, losing self-control in the infection of fear caught from the mute terror which she saw her mother struggling to overcome.  Her mother’s inquiring, imploring glance followed her question.

“Foolish children!” said Uncle Geoffrey, “I am very much vexed with the Bee for her wilfulness about this scheme, but as for the rest, there is hardly a steadier animal than old Dumple, and he is pretty well used to young hands.”

Henrietta thought him quite satisfied, and even her mother was in some degrees tranquillized, and would have been more so, had not Mr. Roger Langford begun to reason with her in the following style:—­“Come, Mary, you need not be in the least alarmed.  It is quite nonsense in you.  You know a boy of any spirit will always be doing things that sound imprudent.  I would not give a farthing for Fred if he was always to be the mamma’s boy you would make him.  He is come to an age now when you cannot keep him up in that way, and he must get knocked about some time or other.”

“O yes, I know I am very foolish,” said she, trying to smile.

“I shall send up Elizabeth to talk to you,” said Uncle Roger.  “She would have a pretty life of it if she went into such a state as you do on all such occasions.”

“Enough to break the heart of ten horses, as they say in Ireland,” said Uncle Geoffrey, seeing that the best chance for her was to appear at his ease, and divert his brother’s attention.  “And by the by, Roger, you never told me if you heard any more of your poor Irish haymakers.”

“Why, Geoffrey, you have an absent fit now for once in your life,” said his brother.  “Are you the man to ask if I heard any more of them, when you yourself gave me a sovereign to send them in the famine?”

Uncle Geoffrey, however, persevered, and finally succeeded in starting Uncle Roger upon his favourite and inexhaustible subject of the doings at the Allonfield Union.  During this time Mrs. Frederick Langford put a few stitches into her work, found it would not do, and paused, stood up, seemed to be observing the new arrangement in the room,—­then took a long look out at the window, and at last left the room.  Henrietta ran after her to assure her that she was convinced that Uncle Geoffrey was not alarmed, and to beg her to set her mind at rest.  “Thank you, my dear,” said she.  “I—­no, really—­you know how foolish I am, my dear, and I think I had rather be alone.  Don’t stay here and frighten yourself too; this is only my usual fright, and it will be better if I am left alone.  Go down, my dear, think about something else, and let me know when they come home.”

With considerable reluctance Henrietta was obliged to obey, and descended to the drawing-room, where the first words that met her ears were from Uncle Roger.  “Well, I wish, with all my heart, they were safe at home again.  But do you mean to say, Geoffrey, that I ought not to have let them go?”