ancholy an occasion."

"There are so few of, us left, Mr. Wallingford, that this kindness will be
doubly appreciated," I answered. "If I did not give orders to have you
apprised of the loss we have all sustained, it is because your residence
is so far from Clawbonny as to render it improbable you could have
received the intelligence in time to attend the solemn ceremony that
remains to be performed. I did intend to write to you, when a little
better fitted to perform such a duty."

"I thank you, cousin. The blood and name of Wallingford are very near and
dear to me, and Clawbonny has always seemed a sort of home."

"The dear creature who now lies dead under its roof, cousin John, so
considered you; and you may be pleased to know that she wished me to leave
you this property in my will the last time I went to sea, as of the direct
line, a Wallingford being the proper owner of Clawbonny. In that
particular, she preferred your claims to her own."

"Ay, this agrees with all I ever heard of the angel," answered John
Wallingford, dashing a tear from his eyes, a circumstance that gave one a
favourable opinion of his heart. "Of course you refused, and left the
property to herself, who had a better right to it."

"I did sir; though she threatened to transfer it to you, the moment it
became her's."

"A threat she would have found it difficult to execute, as I certainly
would have refused to receive it. We are half savages, no doubt, out west
of the bridge; but our lands are beginning to tell in the markets, and we
count already some rich men among us."

This was said with a self-satisfied manner, that my cousin was a little
too apt to assume when property became the subject of conversation. I had
occasion several times that day, even, to remark that he attached a high
value to money; though, at the same time, it struck me that most of his
notions were just and honourable. He quite worked his way into my favour,
however, by the respect he manifested for Clawbonny, and all that belonged
to it. So deep was this veneration, that I began to think of the necessity
of making a new will, in order to bequeath him the place in the event of
my dying without heirs, as I now imagined must sooner or later occur. As
Lucy was not likely to be my wife, no one else, I fancied, ever should be.
I had nearer relations than Jack Wallingford, some of whom were then in
the house; cousins-german by both father and mother; but they were not of
the