a little, gentle, childish thing,
capable of being moulded to anything, and representing the mischief of
leaving them to such society as that of her brother, who was actually
maintaining them. That letter was never answered, but about ten days
or a fortnight after this terrible accident, Colonel Harewood wrote to
entreat my brother to come to Redclyffe, saying poor Sir Guy had eagerly
caught at the mention of his name. Of course he went at once, and he
told me that he never, in all his experience as a clergyman, saw any one
so completely broken down with grief.'

I found a great many of his letters among my father's papers,' said
Philip; 'and it was a very touching one that he wrote to me on my
father's death. Those Redclyffe people certainly have great force of
character.'

'And was it then he settled his property on my uncle?' said Charles.

'Yes,' said Mrs. Edmonstone. 'My brother did not like his doing so, but
he would not be at rest till it was settled. It was in vain to put him
in mind of his grandchild, for he would not believe it could live; and,
indeed, its life hung on a thread. I remember my brother telling me how
he went to Moorworth to see it--for it could not be brought home--in
hopes of bringing, back a report that might cheer its grandfather, but
how he found it so weak and delicate, that he did not dare to try to
make him take interest in it. It was not till the child was two or three
years old, that Sir Guy ventured to let himself grow fond of it.'

'Sir Guy was a very striking person,' said Philip; 'I shall not easily
forget my visit to Redclyffe four years ago. It was more like a scene in
a romance than anything real--the fine old red sandstone house crumbling
away in the exposed parts, the arched gateway covered with ivy; the
great quadrangle where the sun never shone, and full of echoes; the
large hall and black wainscoted rooms, which the candles never would
light up. It is a fit place to be haunted.'

'That poor boy alone there!' said Mrs. Edmonstone; 'I am glad you and
your uncle are going to him.'

'Tell us about him,' said Laura.

'He was the most incongruous thing there,' said Philip. 'There was a
calm, deep melancholy about the old man added to the grand courtesy
which showed he had been what old books call a fine gentleman, that made
him suit his house as a hermit does his cell, or a knight his castle;
but breaking in on this "penseroso" scene, there was Guy--'

'In what way?' aske