'Here are your letters and paper, Mr. Tressider,' said Melanie, who had quietly arisen from the breakfast-table; 'I was afraid dad would forget them again. Hadn't you better open them? I would if I had letters from England.'

'You have my permission,' said the lady of the house. 'Some people are dreadfully cold-blooded about letters. Fancy a woman leaving her letters unread all this time!'

'Theirs are pleasanter than ours,' murmured the recipient. 'That is, generally speaking. Ha! This seems a different hand from the last correspondent. I thought I knew the old fellow's writing well.'

With the sleepless curiosity of youth, Melanie and Jack had kept their eyes fixed upon their friend's face. To their great and unaffected surprise they observed him to flush all over, bronzed cheek and forehead, and afterwards to turn deadly pale. The letter slipped from his nerveless hand, and his eyes assumed such a fixed and strange expression, that the young people were alarmed. Mr. and Mrs. Bayard, with averted heads, were discussing matters of family interest, and so had escaped the bit of melodrama.

Mr. Bayard was recalled by Melanie's eager tones—

'Oh, father! Mr. Tressider's taken ill. He's had some bad news in his letter.'

'Why, old fellow, what is it?' inquired Bayard, turning to him with a face of sincere concern. 'Anything gone wrong at home? I didn't know you heard from relatives in the old country.'

Hugh Tressider stood up and looked at his good friend with a staid and serious expression, not by any means habitual. 'All is well; better than well, my dear Mr. Bayard. I know it will rejoice your kind heart. But it was rather sudden, and as unexpected as an order to become Governor-General. I'm Lord Trewartha, that's all; and there's Trewartha Castle, with not much of an income yet, but a fair sum in cash at my credit to support the dignity. More will fall in when another relative dies. It rather knocked me over at first. The thought of all I could do for the girls and Bob, and the poor Mother who has slaved her soul out all these years for us, was too much for me—my heart struck work for a minute or so. I nearly fainted. There's the letter.'

'And you're a lord?—Lord Trewartha—a real live lord!' said Melanie and Jack, each taking hold of a hand, and jumping up and down with wild excitement and the exuberant, unselfish joy of youth. 'Oh, what fun! Isn't it splendid? And will people have to say, "Yes, my lord," and "No, my lord," and "If your lordship please"? Of course you will send these crawling B.R. cattle to Jericho.' This last was Master Jack's suggestion.

'I shall carry out my engagements, even if I were made a marquis,' said Hugh, recovering his spirits, 'which I read somewhere is ever so much higher than a baron. And you are all to call me Hugh, without Mr. or anything. That is all the difference. Otherwise I shall leave you nothing in my will. And now I must go and have a smoke with your father, or I shall have a fit.'