a beginning, and in the moment of silence that followed, I saw that her
face was growing thinner, and that her hair was streaked with gray.

"I have sent for you, Thomas," she said at last, "to find out what your
intention is with regard to this estate. You know, of course, that your
father forfeited it voluntarily, and that you have no moral claim to it.
Still, the law might sustain your claim, should you choose to assert it."

"I shall not choose to assert it," I answered coldly, and as I spoke, her
face was suffused with sudden joy. "I promised my father never to claim
it,--never to take it unless it were offered to me openly and
freely,--and I intend to keep my promise."

For a moment her emotion prevented her replying, and she pressed one hand
against her breast as though to still the beating of her heart.

"Very well," she said at last. "Your resolution does credit to your
honor, and I will see that you do not regret it. I will undertake the
management of both estates until my son becomes of age. You shall have an
ample allowance. Let me see; how old are you?"

"I am fifteen years old," I answered.

"And have about sounded the depths of Master Scott's learning, I
suppose?" she asked, smiling, the first smile, I think, she had
ever given me.

"He was saying only yesterday that I should soon have to seek
another tutor."

"'T is as I thought. Well, what say you to a course at William and Mary?"

She smiled again as she saw how my cheeks flushed.

"I should like it above all things," I answered earnestly, and, indeed, I
had often thought of it with longing, so lonely was my life at Riverview.

"It shall be done," she said. "The year opens in a fortnight's time, and
you must be there at the beginning."

I thanked her and left the room, and ran to my tutor, who had arrived
some time before, to acquaint him with my good fortune. He was no less
pleased than I, and forthwith wrote me a letter to Dr. Thomas Dawson,
president of the college, commending me to his good offices. So, in due
course, I rode away from Riverview, not regretting it, nor, I dare say,
regretted. In truth, I had no reason to love the place, nor had any
within it reason to love me.

Of my life at college, little need be said. Indeed, I have small reason
to be proud of it, for, reacting against earlier years, perhaps, I
cultivated the Apollo room at the Raleigh rather than my books, and
toasted the leaden bust of Sir Walter more times than