CHAPTER XXV.
IN WHICH THE NEW DEAN OF B---- MAKES HIS APPEARANCE, AND ASTONISHES THE MAJOR OUT OF HIS PROPRIETY.
One evening towards the end of that winter Mrs.Buckley and Sam sat alone before the fire, in the quickly-gathering darkness.

The candles were yet unlighted, but the cheerful flickering light produced by the combustion of three or four logs of sheoak, topped by one of dead gum, shone most pleasantly on the wellordered dining-room, on the close-drawn curtains, on the nicely-polished furniture, on the dinner-table, laid with fair array of white linen, silver, and glass, but, above all, on the honest, quiet face of Sam, who sat before his mother in an easy chair, with his head back, fast asleep.
While she is alternately casting glances of pride and affection towards her sleeping son, and keen looks on the gum log, in search of centipedes, let us take a look at her ourselves, and see how sixteen years have behaved to that handsome face.

There is change here, but no deterioration.

It is a little rounder perhaps, and also a little fuller in colour, but there are no lines there yet.

"Happiness and ceaseless good temper don't make many wrinkles, even in a warmer climate than old England," says the Major, and says, also, confidentially, to Brentwood, "Put a red camelia in her hair, and send her to the opera even now, and see what a sensation she would make, though she is nearer fifty than forty,"-- which was strictly true, although said by her husband, for the raven hair is as black as it was when decorated with the moss-roses of Clere, and the eye is as brilliant as when it flashed with the news of Trafalgar.
Now, the beautiful profile is turned again towards the sleeper as he moves.