d station. No father had ever
been better to a son than his father had been to him. In every affair
of life his happiness, his prosperity, and his future condition had
given motives to his father's conduct. No lover ever worshipped a
mistress more thoroughly than his father had idolised him. There
had never been love to beat it, never solicitude more perfect and
devoted. And yet, as he had been driven home that day, he had allowed
his mind to revert to the property, and his regrets to settle
themselves on his lost position. It should not be so any longer. He
could not keep his mind from dwelling on the thing, but he would
think of it as a trifle,--as of a thing which he could afford to lose
without sorrow. Whereas he had also lost that which is of all things
the most valuable and most impossible to replace,--a friend whose
love was perfect.

But then there was another loss. He bitterly blamed himself for
having written that letter to Sir Thomas Underwood, before he was
actually in a position to do as he had proposed. It must all be
unwritten now. Every resolution hitherto taken as to his future life
must be abandoned. He must begin again, and plan a new life for
himself. It had all come upon him so suddenly that he was utterly
at a loss to think what he would do with himself or with his days.
There was nothing for him but to go away, and be utterly without
occupation, altogether without friends. Friends, indeed, he
had,--dear, intimate, loving friends. Gregory Newton and George
Morris were his friends. Every tenant on the Newton property was his
friend. There was not a man riding with the hunt, worth having as a
friend, who was not on friendly terms with him. But all these he must
leave altogether. In whatever spot he might find for himself a future
residence, that spot could not be at Peele Newton. After what had
occurred he could not remain there, now that he was not the heir. And
then, again, his thoughts came back from his lost father to his lost
inheritance, and he was very wretched.

Between three and four o'clock he took his hat and walked out. He
sauntered down along a small stream, which, after running through the
gardens, bordered one of the coverts which came up near to the house.
He took this path because he knew that he would be alone there,
unseen. It had occurred to him already that it would be well that he
should give orders to stop the works which his father had commenced,
and there had been a moment