ied him up till then. If we can keep him out of mischief, well and
good; if not, it can't be helped.'

'You have him all to yourself,' said Charles.

'Ay, to my sorrow. If your poor father was alive, Philip, I should be
free of all care. I've a pretty deal on my hands,' he proceeded, looking
more important than troubled. 'All that great Redclyffe estate is no
sinecure, to say nothing of the youth himself. If all the world will
come to me, I can't help it. I must go and speak to the men, if I am to
be off to Redclyffe tomorrow. Will you come, Philip?'

'I must go back soon, thank you,' replied Philip. 'I must see about my
leave; only we should first settle when to set off.'

This arranged, Mr. Edmonstone hurried away, and Charles began by saying,
'Isn't there a ghost at Redclyffe?'

'So it is said,' answered his cousin; 'though I don't think it is
certain whose it is. There is a room called Sir Hugh's Chamber, over
the gateway, but the honour of naming it is undecided between Hugo de
Morville, who murdered Thomas a Becket, and his namesake, the first
Baronet, who lived in the time of William of Orange, when the quarrel
began with our branch of the family. Do you know the history of it,
aunt?'

'It was about some property,' said Mrs Edmonstone, 'though I don't know
the rights of it. But the Morvilles were always a fiery, violent race,
and the enmity once begun between Sir Hugh and his brother, was kept
up, generation after generation, in a most unjustifiable way. Even I
can remember when the Morvilles of Redclyffe used to be spoken of in our
family like a sort of ogres.'

'Not undeservedly, I should think,' said Philip. 'This poor old man, who
is just dead, ran a strange career. Stories of his duels and mad freaks
are still extant.'

'Poor man! I believe he went all lengths,' said Mrs. Edmonstone.

'What was the true version of that horrible story about his son?' said
Philip. 'Did he strike him?'

'Oh, no! it was bad enough without that.'

'How?' asked Laura.

'He was an only child, and lost his mother early. He was very ill
brought up, and was as impetuous and violent as Sir Guy himself, though
with much kindliness and generosity. He was only nineteen when he made a
runaway marriage with a girl of sixteen, the sister of a violin player,
who was at that time in fashion. His father was very much offended, and
there was much dreadfully violent conduct on each side. At last, the
young man was driven to seek a