ake back his name--the name of Melcombe.

She knew well that these two sons had always retained their father's
name; but when they sent it in to her, she instinctively perceived
their meaning. They were calling her attention to the fact, and she was
sure now that they never meant to change it.

She had not behaved kindly or justly to her grandson's widow, for people
had called little Peter her heir, and she had not contradicted them. But
she had never made a will; and she secretly hoped that at the last
something would occur to prevent her doing so.

Everything was absolutely in her own power, to leave as she pleased; but
a half superstitious feeling prompted her to wait. She wished her eldest
surviving son to inherit the estate; but sad reflection seemed to assure
her that if it simply lapsed to him as heir-at-law, he would think that
next thing to receiving it through a dispensation of Providence; and she
was such an unhappy mother, that she had reason to suppose he might
prefer that to a direct bequest from her. So she left the kindly women
who shared her seclusion entirely unprovided for, and the long services
of her old domestics unrewarded, in order to flatter the supposed
prejudices of this unknown son, who was destined now to show her how
little he cared for all her forethought, and all her respect for his
possible wishes.

This was now over. She felt that she was foiled. She sat, leaning her
chin on the top of her staff, not able to find anything more to say; and
every moment they spent together, the mother and sons became more
painfully embarrassed, more restless and more restrained.

In the meanwhile Peter's mother and aunt, just as unconscious that his
heirship had ever been a doubt, as that it had been secured to him then
and there, sat waiting below, dressed in their best, to receive these
visitors, and press them to partake of a handsome collation that had
been prepared by their mother's order, and was now spread for them with
unwonted state and profusion in the best parlour.

This large room had not been used for forty years; but as it was always
kept with closed shutters, excepting on those days when it received a
thorough and careful cleaning, the furniture was less faded than might
have been expected, and the old leather-backed chairs, ebony cabinets,
and quaint mirrors leaning out from the walls, looked almost as fresh as
ever.

"Only let me get speech of them," the mother had thought, "and al