ess Margaret. But the
gloomy firs of Wilderness Lodge were more congenial to the disposition
of the old woman than the cheerful garden of the Priory Farm, and the
idle life of a gatekeeper suited Michael's habits better than the
activity of his father's employment. The instructions also, which he
received from Mrs. Pendarrel, raised vague ideas of future consequence
in the young man's mind, and revived the hopes which had originally
sprung from his connection with the family of Trevethlan. His new
mistress discovered that he possessed some education, the abiding
result of Polydore's teaching, and desired him to improve it, and to
attend to his appearance, hinting at the same time rather than saying,
that he might unobtrusively watch the proceedings at Trevethlan
Castle, and report any changes he detected. These orders gratified his
vanity, suited his meanness, and raised his expectations.

But the departure of the orphans seemed to deprive him of his
occupation; nothing transpired to contradict the newspaper account of
their intentions; and, indeed, these appeared so entirely natural,
that a suspicion of incorrectness could hardly arise. None, at least,
was likely to be suggested in the country. But only a brief space had
elapsed, when a summons from Mrs. Pendarrel, requiring young Sinson
to repair immediately to the metropolis, disturbed the serenity of
Wilderness Lodge. His grandmother exulted in the news. Her only
reading was in that fanatical literature, the study of which is apt
either to find men mad, or to leave them so; and she was, besides,
deeply versed in all the local superstitions of the district. Such
lore had given her mind a sombre hue, and inclined her to indulge in
the practice of vaticination. She had foretold a career of distinction
for her grandson, and she fancied that he was now about to enter upon
it. On the eve of his departure, his mother Cicely came to Wilderness
Lodge to bid him farewell. She did not share in Maud's gratification.

"So," she said, sitting under the thatched verandah, "Mercy Page may
suit herself now, I suppose; and Edward Owen need not fear another
fall?"

"Mercy should know her own mind better," said Michael. "She might have
had me long ago, if she pleased; 't is her own fault if it's too late
now. But I don't think Owen'll win her, if I never try a fall with him
again."

"Let her 'bide," muttered Maud; "let her 'bide. What want we with the
folks of Trevethlan?"

"And