"Really!"
"You see, letters are very uncertain; and I just felt in the humor, so I came across myself. I have got important papers for you. My uncle, George Howard, died five weeks ago at his place in Gloucestershire, and, as he left no children, the estate goes to the next of kin—your son, George Seymour."
Grace and her father looked at each other in solemn, strange wonderment.
"My son!" he said slowly, "my son!"
"Yes, the son of the eldest sister. My mother was the younger sister, you know. And so I came over about it; I am supposed to be a lawyer, but the fact is, business is not overpowering with us young fellows, and, as I had enough money to spare, I thought I would sooner go myself than pay a man to make a mess of it. You and my father are appointed guardians during the minority of the heir."
"And they will expect him to go and live in England?" said the father thoughtfully.
"Of course; will there be any difficulty about that?"
Seymour did not reply; he only glanced at his daughter with an awed expression about his face. She was looking at him intently. Young Charteris noticed how ill she seemed.
The rest of the evening passed very sociably, and, having shown his young guest his room, Seymour returned in his dressing-gown and slippers to the library. Grace stole in softly, still dressed, and looking anxious. She drew a chair beside him, and, taking his hand in her own, said solemnly:
"Dear father, it was ordained we should leave this place."