wife made thoughtful answer;
"if he only had money to keep up the place, and clear off those nasty
incumbrances, I should rejoice at his coming back to live where we have
been for centuries."

"My dear, you are too poetical, though the feeling is a fine one. Within
the old walls there can scarcely be a room that has a sound floor to
it. And as for the roof, when that thunder-storm was, and I took shelter
with my pony--well, you know the state I came home in, and all my best
clothes on for the Visitation. Luckily there seems to be no rheumatism
in your family, Maria; and perhaps he is too young as yet to pay out for
it till he gets older. But if he comes for business, and to see to the
relics of his property, surely he might have a bedroom here, and come
and go at his liking. After all his foreign fanglements, a course of
quiet English life and the tone of English principles might be of the
greatest use to him. He would never wish to see the Continent again."

"It is not to be thought of," said Mrs. Twemlow. "I would not have him
to live in this house for fifty thousand pounds a year. You are a
great deal wiser than I am, Joshua; but of his nature you know nothing,
whereas I know it from his childhood. And Eliza is so strong-willed
and stubborn--you dislike, of course, to hear me say it, but it is the
fact--it is, my dear. And I would rather stand by our daughter's grave
than see her fall in love with Caryl Carne. You know what a handsome
young man he must be now, and full of French style and frippery. I am
sure it is most kind of you to desire to help my poor family; but you
would rue the day, my dear, that brought him beneath our quiet roof.
I have lost my only son, as it seems, by the will of the Lord, who
afflicts us. But I will not lose my only daughter, by any such folly of
my own."

Tears rolled down Mrs. Twemlow's cheeks as she spoke of her mysterious
affliction; and her husband, who knew that she was not weak-minded,
consoled her by sharing her sorrow.

"It shall be exactly as you like," he said, after a quiet interval. "You
say that no answer is needed; and there is no address to send one to. We
shall hear of it, of course, when he takes possession, if, indeed, he is
allowed to do so."

"Who is to prevent him from coming, if he chooses, to live in the home
of his ancestors? The estates are all mortgaged, and the park is gone,
turned into a pound for Scotch cattle-breeding. But the poor old castle
belongs