“I am delighted, father. I long to see England; more than all, I long to see Rawdon. I did not know until this moment how much I loved it.”
“Well, then, I will have all ready for us to sail next Saturday. Say nothing about it to Mostyn. He will call to-morrow morning to bid you good-by before leaving for Newport with McLean. Try and be out.”
“I shall certainly be out,” said Ethel. “I do not wish ever to see his face again, and I must see grandmother and tell her what we are going to do.”
“I dare say she guesses already. She advised me to ask you about the mortgage. She knew what you would say.”
“Father, who are the Tyrrel-Rawdons?”
Then the Judge told the story of the young Tyrrel-Rawdon, who a century ago had lost his world for Love, and Ethel said “she liked him better than any Rawdon she had ever heard of.”
“Except your father, Ethel.”
“Except my father; my dear, good father. And I am glad that Love did not always make them poor. They must now be rich, if they want to buy the Court.”
“They are rich manufacturers. Mostyn is much annoyed that the Squire has begun to notice them. He says one of the grandsons of the Tyrrel-Rawdons, disinherited for love’s sake, came to America some time in the forties. I asked your grandmother if this story was true. She said it is quite true; that my father was his friend in the matter, and that it was his reports about America which made them decide to try their fortune in New York.”
“Does she know what became of him?”