ame into his
eyes. "There is no use weeping, my love," he said languidly, "you will
only dim your beauty, and that will do neither your father nor me any
good. Let us go to Sandal. Charlotte and mother must be worn out, and we
can be useful at such a time. I think, indeed, our proper place is
there. The affairs of the 'walks' and the farms must be attended to, and
what will they do on quarter-day? Of course Harry will not remain there.
It would be unkind, wrong, and in exceedingly bad taste."

"Poor, dear father! And oh, Julius, what a disgrace to the family! A
singer! How could Harry behave so shamefully to us all?"

"Harry never cared for any mortal but himself. How disgracefully he
behaved about our marriage; for this same woman's sake, I have no doubt.
You must remember that I disapproved of Harry from the very first. The
idea of terminating a _liaison_ of that kind with a marriage! Harry
ought to be put out of decent society. You and I ought to be at
Seat-Sandal now. Charlotte will be pushing that Stephen Latrigg into the
Sandal affairs, and you know what I think of Stephen Latrigg. He is to
be feared, too, for he has capabilities, and Charlotte to back him; and
Charlotte was always underhand, Sophia. You would not see it, but she
was. Order your trunks to be packed at once,--don't forget the rubies my
mother promised you,--and I will have a conversation with the judge."

Judge Thomas Sandal was by no means a bad fellow. He had left
Sandal-Side under a sense of great injustice, but he had done well to
himself; and those who had done him wrong, had disappeared into the
cloud of death. He had forgotten all his grievances, he had even
forgotten the inflicters of them. He had now a kindly feeling towards
Sandal, and was a little proud of having sprung from such a grand old
race. Therefore, when Julius told him what had happened, and frankly
said he thought he could buy from Harry Sandal all his rights of
succession to the estate, Judge Thomas Sandal saw nothing unjust in the
affair.

The law of primogeniture had always appeared to him a most unjust and
foolish law. In his own youth it had been a source of burning anger and
dispute. He had always declared it was a shame to give Launcelot every
thing, and William and himself scarce a crumb off the family loaf. To
his eldest brother, as his eldest brother, he had declined to give
"honor and obedience." "William is a far finer fellow," he said one day
to his mother; "f