rough country squire. It would be an act of charity
if you would go and keep him company, or take him with you to some place
a little more lively than his own lodgings."

"What! the old gentleman has been teasing him!--a horrid shame! Why,
Frank is not extravagant, and he will be very rich, eh?"

"An immense property," said Randal, "and not a mortgage on it: an only
son," he added, turning away.

Among these young gentlemen there was a kindly and most benevolent
whisper, and presently they all rose, and walked away towards Frank's
lodgings.

"The wedge is in the tree," said Randal to himself, "and there is a gap
already between the bark and the wood."

CHAPTER XXII

Harley L'Estrange is seated beside Helen at the lattice-window in the
cottage at Norwood. The bloom of reviving health is on the child's face,
and she is listening with a smile, for Harley is speaking of Leonard
with praise, and of Leonard's future with hope. "And thus," he
continued, "secure from his former trials, happy in his occupation, and
pursuing the career he has chosen, we must be content, my dear child, to
leave him."

"Leave him!" exclaimed Helen, and the rose on her cheek faded.

Harley was not displeased to see her emotion. He would have been
disappointed in her heart if it had been less susceptible to affection.

"It is hard on you, Helen," said he, "to be separated from one who has
been to you as a brother. Do not hate me for doing so. But I consider
myself your guardian, and your home as yet must be mine. We are going
from this land of cloud and mist, going as into the world of summer.
Well, that does not content you. You weep, my child; you mourn your
own friend, but do not forget your father's. I am alone, and often sad,
Helen; will you not comfort me? You press my hand, but you must learn to
smile on me also. You are born to be the comforter. Comforters are not
egotists; they are always cheerful when they console."

The voice of Harley was so sweet and his words went so home to the
child's heart, that she looked up and smiled in his face as he kissed
her ingenuous brow. But then she thought of Leonard, and felt so
solitary, so bereft, that tears burst forth again. Before these were
dried, Leonard himself entered, and, obeying an irresistible impulse,
she sprang to his arms, and leaning her head on his shoulder, sobbed
out,

"I am going from you, brother; do not grieve, do not miss me."

Harley was much moved: he folde