ry III. to Guglielmus ab
Vita and the heirs male of his body to the Manor, lying without the city
of Carminster, and here are three wills of successive lords of Delavie
expressly mentioning heirs male. Now the deeds that I have seen do not
go beyond 1539, when Henry Delavie had a grant of the Grange and lands
belonging to Carminster Abbey--the place, in fact, where the Great House
stands, and there is in that no exclusion of female heirs. But the Manor
house can certainly be proved to be entailed in the male line alone,
according to what was, I believe, the tradition of the family."

"There is no large amount of property involved, I fear," said Mr.
Wayland.

"There is an old house, much out of repair, and a few farms worth, may
be, 200 pounds a year, a loss that will not be material to you, sir, I
hope."

"Do you mean--?" said Aurelia, not daring to ask farther.

"I mean, my dear young lady," said Mr. Wayland, "that your researches
have brought to light the means of doing tardy justice to your good
father."

"His right to the Manor House is here established," explained Mr.
Belamour. "It will not be a matter of favour of my Lady's, but, as my
brother supposed, he ought to have been put in possession on the old
Lord's death."

"And Eugene will be a gentleman of estate," cried Aurelia, joyously.
"Nor will any one be able to drive out my dear father! Oh! how happy I
am."

Both she and Mr. Belamour spared Mr. Wayland the knowledge of my Lady's
many broken promises, and indeed she was anxious to get back to the
_Royal York_, lest her father and sister should have returned, and think
her again vanished.

They all met at the door, and much amazed were the Major and Betty to
encounter her with her two squires. Mr. Wayland took the Major to show
him the parchments. Betty had her explanation from her sister and Mr.
Belamour.

"You actually ventured back to that dreadful house," she said, looking
at them gratefully.

"You see what protectors I had," said Aurelia, with a happy smile.

"Yes," said Betty, "I have been longing to say--only I cannot," for she
was almost choked by a great sob, "how very much we owe to you, sir. I
could say it better if I did not feel it so much." And she held out her
hand.

"You cannot owe to me a tithe of what I owe to your sister," said Mr.
Belamour, "and through her to you, madam. Much as nature had done for
her, never would she have been to the miserable recluse the life and
light-b