A gentle smile rose to his face, and he pointed upwards. "There's a better heirship for me, Aunt Ryle."
It was upon returning from this memorable interview with Squire Trevlyn, that Mrs. Ryle met Octave Chattaway and stopped to speak.
"Are you getting settled, Octave?"
"Tolerably so. Mamma says she shall not be straight in six months to come. Have you been to the Hold?"
"Yes," replied Mrs. Ryle, turning her determined gaze on Octave. "Have you heard the news? That the Squire has chosen his heir?"
"No," breathlessly rejoined Octave. "We have heard that Rupert is beyond hope; but nothing else. It will be Maude, I conclude."
"It is to be George Ryle."
"George Ryle!" repeated Octave, in amazement.
"Yes. I believe it will be left to him, not to Maude. But it will be all the same. He is to marry her, and to take the name of Trevlyn. George never told me this. He just said to-day that he was going to live at the Hold; but he never said it was as Maude's husband and the Squire's heir. How prospects have changed!"
Changed! Ay, Octave felt it to her inmost soul, as she leaned against the gate, and gazed in thought after Mrs. Ryle. Gazed without seeing or hearing, deep in her heart's tribulation, her hand pressed upon her bosom, her pale face quivering as it was turned to the winter sky.