fancy, are pleasanter to dwell on than likely issues that have no savour of high speculation in them.  The equatorial question was a great one; and she had caught such a large spark from his enthusiasm that she could think of nothing so piquant as how to obtain the important instrument.When Tabitha Lark arrived at the Great House next day, instead of finding Lady Constantine in bed, as formerly, she discovered her in the library, poring over what astronomical works she had been able to unearth from the worm-eaten shelves.  As these publications were, for a science of such rapid development, somewhat venerable, there was not much help of a practical kind to be gained from them.  Nevertheless, the equatorial retained a hold upon her fancy, till she became as eager to see one on the Rings-Hill column as Swithin himself.The upshot of it was that Lady Constantine sent a messenger that evening to Welland Bottom, where the homestead of Swithin's grandmother was situated, requesting the young man's presence at the house at twelve o'clock next day.He hurriedly returned an obedient reply, and the promise was enough to lend great freshness to her manner next morning, instead of the leaden air which was too frequent with her before the sun reached the meridian, and sometimes after.  Swithin had, in fact, arisen as an attractive little intervention between herself and despair.VII
A fog defaced all the trees of the park that morning, the white atmosphere adhered to the ground like a fungoid growth from it, and made the turfed undulations look slimy and raw.  But Lady Constantine settled down in her chair to await the coming of the late curate's son with a serenity which the vast blanks outside could neither baffle nor destroy.At two minutes to twelve the door-bell rang, and a look overspread the lady's face that was neither maternal, sisterly, nor amorous; but partook in an indescribable manner of all three kinds.  The door was flung open and the young man was ushered in, the fog still clinging to his hair, in which she could discern a little notch where she had nipped off the curl.A speechlessness that socially was a defect in him was to her view a piquant attribute just now.  He looked somewhat alarmed.'Lady Constantine, have I done anything, that you have sent--?' he began breathlessly, as he gazed in her face, with parted lips.'O no, of course not!  I have decided to do something,--nothing more,' she smilingly said, holding out her hand, which he rather gingerly touched.  'Don't look so concerned.  Who makes equatorials?'This remark was like the drawing of a weir-hatch and she was speedily inundated with all she wished to know concerning astronomical opticians. When he had imparted the particulars he waited, manifestly burning to know whither these 

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