ather's death, my lord, my mother has had no settled home.
She has lived within reach of me, first at Winchester, and then at
Oxford. Now she will settle where I do."

"And what profession are you taking, may I inquire?"

"The law I believe; things are not yet decided, my lord; but there is
some notion of a partnership in Bristol, when I have passed the needful
examinations."

"Well, well, we must have lawyers, and can no more do without them than
doctors, eh?" All this time Melville had fidgeted, and felt annoyed at
the bishop's coldness to him. "I am alone just now in the Palace;
health, or rather the search for health, has taken the ladies to the
east coast, a very distant spot--Cromer in Norfolk. But bracing was
recommended, and our Western sea cannot come under that head. But will
you walk round; I shall be pleased to show you over the grounds, and the
gallery, where the portraits of my predecessors hang. One has the mark
of a bullet in his cheek, caught in the battle of Sedgemoor. All our
surroundings speak of warlike times, and there are moments now when I
feel as if I would gladly pull up my drawbridge and have done with the
world without. There is strife in the streets, and storms even in our
little tea-cup, I can assure you."

The bishop now led the way round to the gardens at which Arundel had
looked with longing eyes through the ruins. Suddenly the bishop turned
sharply on Melville, looking him down from head to foot with anything
but an approving glance.

"And what profession, sir, do you mean to take up?--law, like your
friend--or what?"

"I am going to travel for a year, my lord."

"Travel! humph! Your good father has several sons, I think?"

"Four younger sons, my lord; so much the worse for me."

"I hope you set them a good example," said the bishop, drily. "I should
venture to suggest that your father might want help with his estate."

"He has a steward, my lord, an old servant."

"Stewards mean money, don't they? and a gentleman with a small landed
property cannot be overburdened with that article nowadays, more
especially if he has five sons."

Melville's brow clouded, and he would fain, if he had dared, given vent
to some rather uncomplimentary adjectives, of which "old meddler" was
one.

"Here," said the bishop, "are the ruins of the old Hall, where, report
says, the last abbot of Glastonbury was hanged. He was tried here by the
king's orders, for suppression of some of the church l