things which had been discussed that day;
but they did not help him, and he sank into thought.

"I hope I was not going to make any mistake," he shortly said, and
Valentine began to suppose he really had something particular to say. "I
think my dear brother and I decided for ever to hold our peace," he next
murmured, after a long pause.

Valentine was silent. The allusion to his father made him remember how
completely all the more active and eventful part of their lives had gone
by for these two old men before he came into the world.

"What were you and John talking of just before he left?" said the old
man, after a puzzled pause.

"Nothing of the least consequence," answered Valentine, feeling that he
had forgotten what he might have meant to say. "John would be uneasy if
he knew you were here still. Shall we go home?"

"Not yet. If I mentioned this, you would never tell it to my John. There
is no need that my John should ever have a hint of it. You will promise
not to tell him?"

"No, my dear uncle, indeed I could not think of such a thing," said
Valentine, now a little uneasy. If his uncle really had something
important to say, this was a strange request, and if he had not, his
thoughts must be wandering.

"Well," said Grand, in a dull, quiet voice, as of one satisfied and
persuaded, "perhaps it is no duty of mine, then, to mention it. But what
was it that you and John were talking of just before he went away?"

"You and John were going to send your cards, to inquire after Mrs.
A'Court, because she is ill. I asked if mine might go too, and as it was
handed across you took notice of what was on it, and said it pleased
you; do you remember? But John laughed about it."

"Yes; and what did you answer, Val?"

"I said that if everybody had his rights, that ought not to have been my
name at all. You ought to have been Mr. Mortimer now, and I Mr.
Melcombe."

"I thought it was that," answered Grand, cogitating. "Yes, it was never
intended that you should touch a shilling of that property."

"I know that, uncle," said Valentine. "My father always told me he had
no expectations from his mother. It was unlucky for me, that's all. I
don't mean to say," he continued, "that it has been any particular
disappointment, because I was always brought up to suppose I should have
nothing; but as I grow older I often think it seems rather a shame I
should be cut out; and as my father was, I am sure, one of the most
amiable o