Be this as it may, the removal of this gentleman from London to his paternal estate and mansion was not only attended with the breaking up of his establishment at Camberwell, but was also soon followed by his withdrawal from the firm in which he had so long been a partner. Probably this determination on his part was hastened by disgust at trade in general, consequent upon his recent experiences in business fluctuations. At all events, he was determined, as he said, to wipe his hands of it. Which he did; and he did not go out empty-handed either, for he withdrew not only himself, but the full share of capital to which he was entitled. Thenceforth, therefore, he entered upon the life of a country gentleman.

Other events followed. The first was the flight from the old home of the single Miss Elliston, who had so long kept her father's house on a rather scanty annuity. She had never been a very great favourite of her brother; nevertheless, he would have given her house-room, he said; but being offered, not only house-room, but a home in her brother-in-law's and her sister's pleasant villa on the banks of the Thames, she accepted the offer, and was no more known in Mumbleton.

Then there were other changes; old servants were dismissed and new ones were hired; old furniture was sold and new was bought; old and stale pictures were taken down from the walls, and fresh were hung up. In all this, the new proprietor only acted on the universal instinct by which the world moves on to the universal termination, when it, and all that it inherit, shall be dissolved, and—

"Like the baseless fabric of a vision,
Leave not a rack behind."

There were yet other events to follow. When the brief ceremonial term of mourning for the dead was ended, the doors of the family mansion at the Mumbles were opened wide for the reception of guests. There were grand doings then, I promise you, reader. But as I was not among the invited ones, I decline giving a second-hand report of them. If you want to know more, look into the county paper of that date, and gratify your natural longing.

No, I was not among the invited; and, strange to say, neither was young Tom Grigson, in whom I hope you, dear reader, take enough interest (though so recently introduced to him) to be anxious to hear what his sister has to say in the following letter:

"My DARLING HELEN,—Thank you, thank you a hundred times for your nice long letter. It is so good of you to remember me as you do, and to let me into all your little secrets. Ah, those were happy times when we were at school together, though it was school. For, as you say, Miss G— was and is a very nice good lady, though she was, and is, a schoolmistress. And then we had one another's company, which was, I will say, the best thing that could have happened to me, whatever it might have been to you; and I do wish, dear, that you would come and spend a month, or two or three months, with me here, at my home. It is the only thing I find to object to in Mr. Tincroft, that as soon as you and London are mentioned in the same breath—but there, I am not to say anything about that, and I won't disobey orders."
"Thank you very much, and dear, good Mrs. Tincroft too, for wanting to see me again at your delightful home. I need not say how happy I shall be when the time comes, whenever it does come; and perhaps now our troubles are passing away (I mean papa's business vexations, which you may have heard of), I shall not be so much wanted at home as I have been—at least, as they say I have been, for papa says I have been of use—great use, he says, which I am glad of, I am sure."
"There—I won't write another word about myself."
"And, oh! I am so glad you wouldn't have that odious—you know I never did like him—that conceited dandy M—. To think of his having the impudence to make you an offer! Dear Helen, I am sure, with all his money, and being a J.P., as he likes to make known that he is, he would have made you miserable. Such a screw as he is, and—and not at, all handsome either, though he does think so much of himself. Oh, darling, I am so glad you said 'No' to him. I feel sure you will never repent it. There's something better in store for you than that would have been, I hope."
"And what do you think, Helen dear? You would never guess, so I'll tell you. You know all about Uncle Elliston's going to live at the Mumbles, and sidling up to be so grand there; and about Aunt Jane coming to live with us. And a very nice sort of aunt she is, and we all begin to like her very much; all the more for her having received not the best of treatment, so mamma thinks, from her brother."
"But this is not what I was going to tell you. Somebody else hasn't had the best treatment either. You know that dear Tom's wedding was put off because of old Mr. Elliston's death; and now it is put off altogether! Only think of that! We thought it strange, when they went to live at the Mumbles, that Tom wasn't asked there. And when they had that great 'house-warming,' as it was called in the paper I sent you, it seemed more strange that not a word was said about Tom being wanted. But it is all explained now. He wasn't wanted; there was somebody else. And only yesterday came a letter to papa—he won't let anybody read it but mamma; but he told us what was in it. The match is to be considered broken off for good, because Uncle Elliston doesn't approve of such family arrangements. Only think of that! And he, the first to propose the 'arrangement—' so Papa says. And he thinks (uncle does) that it will be better for all parties, and happier, to give it up."
"And then comes out what it all means—it means that Blanche has had an offer from Sir Somebody Something at Somewhere Park, who has been a pretty constant visitor at the Mumbles ever since they went to live there, and she has accepted him. I reckon if Uncle Richard hadn't married as he did, Uncle Elliston would have thought twice before he had let that Sir Somebody cut out poor Tom; for he hasn't a good character at all, Aunt Jane says. But now Uncle Richard has a son, and there is no chance of the estate coming to Tom, as was once calculated on, I think, and we all think, this made all the difference with Uncle Elliston."
"Anyhow, so it is; and I am glad—that is, I am not sorry for it. At least, I hope it will all turn out for the best. But poor Tom is sadly cut up about it; and I wish—no, I won't say what I wish."
"P.S. What do you think? Oh, I am so glad! Papa and mamma have just told me that they will spare me for a good long holiday to go where and when I like. Can you suppose that I could like to go anywhere so well as to Tincroft House, to be with my darling Helen? May I say next week? Write and let me know."

Of course, Helen's reply to Catherine was—"Do come," and, of course, Catherine packed up and was soon at Tincroft House.

She had been there about a month when came the following laconic epistle to Tom Grigson the younger:

"MY DEAR Tom,—Some two or three summers ago you were rather disappointed in not having the opportunity of seeing what was to be seen at Trotbury during the celebrated cricket week. What there can be to see and delight in at that especial time is a mystery to me. But every one to his taste; and if you will honour me with your presence the week after next (being Trotbury cricket week), I shall be only too happy to give you all facilities for witnessing the sport (?) in good company. My dear Sarah says she knows you will come, and has given the housekeeper (our old Jane still holds that office) orders to have your room in readiness.—Yours affectionately,"
"JOHN TINCROFT."