have knocked
him over. The blow had been so sudden, the solitude and gloom of the
house so depressing, and his sorrow so crushing, that he was ready
to acknowledge that there could be no hope for him in any direction.
He had fed himself upon his own grief, till the idea of any future
success in life was almost unpalatable to him. But things had mended
with him now, and he would see whether there might not yet be joys
for him in the world. He would first see whether there might not be
that one great joy which he had promised to himself.

And then there came another blow. The young Squire had resolved that
he would not hunt before Christmas in the Newton country. It was felt
by him and by his brother that he should abstain from doing so out of
respect to the memory of his uncle, and he had declared his purpose.
Of course there was neither hunting nor shooting in these days for
the other Ralph. But at the end of a month the young Squire began to
feel that the days went rather slowly with him, and he remembered his
stud at the Moonbeam. He consulted Gregory; and the parson, though
he would fain have induced his brother to remain, could not say that
there was any real objection to a trip to the B. and B's. Ralph would
go there on the 10th of December, and be back at his own house before
Christmas. When Christmas was over, the other Ralph was to leave
Newton,--perhaps for ever.

The two Ralphs had become excellent friends, and when the one that
was to go declared his intention of going with no intention of
returning, the other pressed him warmly to think better of it, and
to look upon the Priory at any rate as a second home. There were
reasons why it could not be so, said the namesake; but in the close
confidence of friendship which the giving and the declining of the
offer generated came this further blow. They were standing together
leaning upon a gate, and looking at the exhumation of certain vast
roots, as to which the trees once belonging to them had been made to
fall in consequence of the improvements going on at Darvell's farm.
"I don't mind telling you," said Ralph the heir, "that I hope soon to
have a mistress here."

"And who is she?"

"That would be mere telling;--would it not?"

"Clarissa Underwood?" asked the unsuspecting Ralph.

There did come some prick of conscience, some qualm, of an injury
done, upon the young Squire as he made his answer. "No; not
Clarissa;--though she is the dearest, sweetest girl