"Have you heard anything of the Mayfords lately?" said Jim.
"You know Ellen is married?" said Sam.
"No! Is she?" I said. "And pray to whom?"
"The Squire of Monkspool," he answered. "A very fine young fellow, and clever withal."
"Did old Mrs. Mayford," asked Jim, "ever recover her reason before she died?"
"Never, poor soul," said Sam. "To the last, she refused to see my mother, believing that the rivalry between Cecil and myself in some way led to his death. She was never sane after that dreadful morning."
And so with much pleasant talk we beguiled the way, till I saw, across a deep valley on our right, a line of noble heights, well timbered, but broken into open grassy glades, and smooth sheets of bright green lawn. Between us and these hills flowed a gleaming river, from which a broad avenue led up to the eye of the picture, a noble grey stone mansion, a mass of turrets, gables, and chimneys, which the afternoon sun was lighting up right pleasantly.
"That is the finest seat I have seen yet, Sam," I said. "Whose is that?"
"That," said Sam, "is Clere. My house and your home, old friend."
Swiftly up under the shadow of the elm avenue, past the herds of dappled deer, up to the broad graveled terrace which ran along in front of the brave old house. And there, beneath the dark wild porch, above the group of servants that stood upon the steps to receive their master, was Alice, with her son and daughter beside her, waiting to welcome us, with the happy sunlight on her face.