the signal
was suddenly hoisted on the staff. It announced that a mail steamer had
appeared in view over the sea. In the course of an hour he retraced his
steps, as he had often done on such occasions, and strolled leisurely
across the intervening mile and a half till he arrived at the post-office
door.

There was no letter from England for him; but there was a newspaper,
addressed in the seventeenth century handwriting of his grandmother, who,
in spite of her great age, still retained a steady hold on life. He
turned away disappointed, and resumed his walk into the country, opening
the paper as he went along.

A cross in black ink attracted his attention; and it was opposite a name
among the 'Deaths.' His blood ran icily as he discerned the words 'The
Palace, Melchester.' But it was not she. Her husband, the Bishop of
Melchester, had, after a short illness, departed this life at the
comparatively early age of fifty years.

All the enactments of the bygone days at Welland now started up like an
awakened army from the ground. But a few months were wanting to the time
when he would be of an age to marry without sacrificing the annuity which
formed his means of subsistence. It was a point in his life that had had
no meaning or interest for him since his separation from Viviette, for
women were now no more to him than the inhabitants of Jupiter. But the
whirligig of time having again set Viviette free, the aspect of home
altered, and conjecture as to her future found room to work anew.

But beyond the simple fact that she was a widow he for some time gained
not an atom of intelligence concerning her. There was no one of whom he
could inquire but his grandmother, and she could tell him nothing about a
lady who dwelt far away at Melchester.

Several months slipped by thus; and no feeling within him rose to
sufficient strength to force him out of a passive attitude. Then by the
merest chance his granny stated in one of her rambling epistles that Lady
Constantine was coming to live again at Welland in the old house, with
her child, now a little boy between three and four years of age.

Swithin, however, lived on as before.

But by the following autumn a change became necessary for the young man
himself. His work at the Cape was done. His uncle's wishes that he
should study there had been more than observed. The materials for his
great treatise were collected, and it now only remained for him to
arrange, d