icence, was
just the man who would be sure to become a peer. She had always heard
the income fixed at thirty thousand a year. What would a few debts
signify to thirty thousand a year? Such had been her thoughts up to the
period of Captain Scarborough's late visit, when he had come to
Cheltenham, and had renewed his demand for Florence's hand somewhat
roughly. He had spoken ambiguous words, dreadful words, declaring that
an internecine quarrel had taken place between him and his father; but
these words, though they had been very dreadful, had been altogether
misunderstood by Mrs. Mountjoy. The property she knew to be entailed,
and she knew that when a property was entailed the present owner of it
had nothing to do with its future disposition. Captain Scarborough, at
any rate, was anxious for the marriage, and Mrs. Mountjoy was inclined
to accept him, encumbered as he now was with his father's wrath, in
preference to poor Harry Annesley.

In June Harry came up to London, and there learned at his club the
singular story in regard to old Mr. Scarborough and his son. Mr.
Scarborough had declared his son illegitimate, and all the world knew
now that he was utterly penniless and hopelessly in debt. That he had
been greatly embarrassed Harry had known for many months, and added to
that was now the fact, very generally believed, that he was not and
never had been the heir to Tretton Park. All that still increasing
property about Tretton, on which so many hopes had been founded, would
belong to his brother. Harry, as he heard the tale, immediately
connected it with Florence. He had, of course, known the captain was a
suitor to the girl's hand, and there had been a time when he thought
that his own hopes were consequently vain. Gradually the conviction
dawned upon him that Florence did not love the grand warrior, that she
was afraid of him rather and awe-struck. It would be terrible now were
she brought to marry him by this feeling of awe. Then he learned that
the warrior had gone down to Cheltenham, and in the restlessness of his
spirit he pursued him. When he reached Cheltenham the warrior had
already gone.

"The property is certainly entailed," said Mrs. Mountjoy. He had called
at once at the house and saw the mother, but Florence was discreetly
sent away to her own room when the dangerous young man was admitted.

"He is not Mr. Scarborough's eldest son at all," said Harry; "that is,
in the eye of the law." Then he had to un