a
false idea of George, always, and thought that he was underhand.
Nothing could be more mistaken than such a notion. George is a most
estimable young man, and my dear brother's only son. I wish you would
try to remember that, Philip--blood is thicker than water, you know--
and you will be the only two Caresfoots left when I am gone. Now,
perhaps you may think that I intend enriching George at your expense,
but that is not so. Take this key and open the top drawer of that
secretaire, and give me that bundle. This is my will. If you care to
look over it, and can understand it--which is more than I can--you
will see that everything is left to you, with the exception of that
outlying farm at Holston, those three Essex farms that I bought two
years ago, and twelve thousand pounds in cash. Of course, as you know,
the Abbey House, and the lands immediately round, are entailed--it has
always been the custom to entail them for many generations. There, put
it back. And now the last thing is, I want you to get married, Philip.
I should like to see a grandchild in the house before I die. I want
you to marry Maria Lee. I like the girl. She comes of a good old
Marlshire stock--our family married into hers in the year 1703.
Besides, her property would put yours into a ring-fence. She is a
sharp girl too, and quite pretty enough for a wife. I hope you will
think it over, Philip."

"Yes, father; but perhaps she will not have me. I am going to lunch
there to-morrow."

"I don't think you need be afraid, Philip; but I won't keep you any
longer. Shake hands, my boy. You'll perhaps think of your old father
kindly when you come to stand in his shoes. I hope you will, Philip.
We have had many a quarrel, and sometimes I have been wrong, but I
have always wished to do my duty by you, my boy. Don't forget to make
the best of your time at lunch to-morrow."

Philip went out of his father's study considerably touched by the
kindness and consideration with which he had been treated, and not a
little relieved to find his position with reference to his succession
to the estate so much better than he had anticipated, and his cousin
George's so much worse.

"That red-haired fox has plotted in vain," he thought, with secret
exultation. And then he set himself to consider the desirability of
falling in with his father's wishes as regards marriage. Of Maria he
was, as the reader is aware, very fond; indeed, a few years before he
had been in love wit