“In Labrador—or equatorial Africa?” inquired the captain.
“Not quite so bad as either of those distant deserts,” laughed Vibert. “Myst Hall is not a hundred miles from London, and Wiltshire is not quite beyond the pale of civilized life.”
“What has happened to make such a migration probable?” inquired Arrows. “You know that during our northern cruise I have had no letters, and that as regards home news, the last three months have been to me an absolute blank.”
“Our story is easily told,” said Emmie. “You will, I dare say, remember that papa had an aunt, Mrs. Myers, who lived in Wiltshire.”
“I recollect the name, but little besides,” replied Arrows.
“None of us knew much of Aunt Myers,” continued his niece. “Except a hamper of home-made preserves which came to us from Myst Court every Christmas, we had little to remind us of a relative who shut herself up from her family and friends for fifty long years.”
“But if we forgot the old dame, she did not forget us,” interrupted Vibert. “Aunt Myers died eight or nine days ago and there came a letter from her lawyer announcing her death, and informing my father that he is the old lady’s heir, executor, and the master of Myst Court, with all the fields, pleasure-grounds, cottages, copses, and I don’t know what else thereto appertaining.”
The captain did not look as much impressed by the announcement as his young informant expected that he would be.
“Papa, of course, went to his poor aunt’s funeral,” said Emmie, “and took Bruce with him to see what he thought of the place.”
“There was plenty of business to be transacted,” observed Vibert; “I fancy that there always is when landed property changes hands. My father asked for a week’s holiday from office-work. Perhaps he will give up his appointment altogether; all depends on whether he decide to live on his own estate, or to let it and take a new lease of Summer Villa.”