ar
grandfather"----continued Mr Gillingham Howard.

"Should have stuck to the melting tub, both of them--but it isn't for
myself I want the property. I have _a_ grandchild, sir; a
grandson--but that has nothing to do with it. Will you let me have
your answer soon? I will call on you, to hear your decision,
to-morrow."

"Always happy to see an old friend."

"Provided he come with a new face," interposed Mr Roe; "but you don't
much like the sight of my rough old phiz. At any rate, there's no
deceit in it, and now we understand each other."

CHAPTER IV.

It was on the day succeeding this visit of reconciliation, that Miss
Arabel and the stumpy Susannah pursued their way to the shrubbery
walk, in a rapid and mysterious manner, as if they hoped to escape
observation.

"Papa is so unreasonable, aunt," said the young lady. "Why should he
wish to leave Surbridge, just when"----

"You think you have caught a lover," interposed the aunt; "don't be
too sure. You've been deceived in that way before now."

"Oh, if you only saw him! He met me yesterday, and said he would see
me again to-day; and paid such compliments, and looked so handsome."

"But who is he? Is he a gentleman?"

"Of course he is," replied Miss Arabel; "or do you think he would
venture to speak to _me_?"

"Did he tell you his name?"

"No. All he has told me is--he is living with an old gentleman in one
of the villas in the neighbourhood."

"An old gentleman," mused Miss Susannah, "in a villa--it must be the
same--it must be old Roe's Grandson. If it is, and he takes a fancy to
this girl, it will be all well yet. What has he ever called you? Did
he ever say you were an angel?"

"No. He thought me one, though; and said he had heard of what a
treasure Surbridge contained; and yesterday he repeated it, and said
he would give the world to be able to call it his."

"That's something. You must get him to say something of the kind
before a witness."

"But how? What witness can there be, when I can never bring him to the
house?"

"Why not? Ah, how I recollect, in the back parlour," said Miss
Susannah, her memory unconsciously wandering back to the love
incidents of her youth.

"The back parlour?" enquired Miss Arabel.

"The back--I didn't say back parlour. I said black parlour--the oaken
dining-room in my father's house."

"And what of it, aunt? What made you think of the black parlour now?"

"Oh, it was a picture," stammered Miss Susan, invent