of California. That was in 1850. He never
wrote again. It is likely he perished on the terrible journey across the
plains. Many thousands did."

"When I am in England I intend to call upon these Tyrrel-Rawdons. I
think I shall like them. My heart goes out to them. I am proud of this
bit of romance in the family."

"Oh, there is plenty of romance behind you, Ethel. When you see the old
Squire standing at the entrance to the Manor House, you may see the hags
of Cressy and Agincourt, of Marston and Worcester behind him. And the
Rawdon women have frequently been daughters of Destiny. Many of them
have lived romances that would be incredible if written down. Oh, Ethel,
dear, we cannot, we cannot for our lives, let the old home fall into the
hands of strangers. At any rate, if on inspection we think it wrong to
interfere, I can at least try and get the children of the disinherited
Tyrrel back to their home. Shall we leave it at this point for the
present?"

This decision was agreeable to all, and then the few preparations
necessary for the journey were talked over, and in this happy discussion
the evening passed rapidly. The dream of Ethel's life had been
this visit to the home of her family, and to go as its savior was a
consummation of the pleasure that filled her with loving pride. She
could not sleep for her waking dreams. She made all sorts of resolutions
about the despised Tyrrel-Rawdons. She intended to show the proud,
indolent world of the English land-aristocracy that Americans, just as
well born as themselves, respected business energy and enterprise; and
she had other plans and propositions just as interesting and as full of
youth's impossible enthusiasm.

In the morning she went to talk the subject over with her grandmother.
The old lady received the news with affected indifference. She said,
"It mattered nothing to her who sat in Rawdon's seat; but she would not
hear Mostyn blamed for seeking his right. Money and sentiment are no
kin," she added, "and Fred has no sentiment about Rawdon. Why should he?
Only last summer Rawdon kept him out of Parliament, and made him spend a
lot of money beside. He's right to get even with the family if he can."

"But the old Squire! He is now----"

"I know; he's older than I am. But Squire Percival has had his day,
and Fred would not do anything out of the way to him--he could not; the
county would make both Mostyn and Rawdon very uncomfortable places to
live in, if he did.