e
felt that as the old lady chose to leave all to one son, that should not
have been the youngest. I hope you will be happy; and I know you will
make a kind, good landlord. It seems quite providential that you should
have spent so much time in learning all about land and farming. I have
always felt that all which was best and nicest in you would come out, if
you could have prosperity, and we now see that it was intended for you."

Cordial, delightful words to Valentine; they almost made him forget this
letter that she had never heard of.

"Oh, if you please, ma'am," exclaimed a female servant, bursting into
the room, "Mr. Brandon's love to you. He has sent the pony-carriage, and
he wants you to come back in it directly."

Something in the instant attention paid to this message, and the
alacrity with which Emily ran up-stairs, as if perfectly ready, and
expectant of it, showed Valentine that it did not concern his
inheritance, but also what and whom it probably did concern, and he
sauntered into the little hall to wait for Emily, put her into the
carriage and fold the rug round her, while he observed without much
surprise that she had for the moment quite forgotten his special
affairs, and was anxious and rather urgent to be off.

Then he drove into Wigfield, considering in his own mind that if John
did not know anything concerning the command in this strange letter, he
and he only was the person who ought to be told and consulted about it.

It rained now, and when he entered the bank and paused to take off his
wet coat, he saw on every face as it was lifted up that his news was
known, and his heart beat so fast as he knocked at John's door that he
had hardly strength to obey the hearty "Come in."

Two minutes would decide what John knew, and whether he also had a
message to give him from the dead. John was standing with his back to
the fire, grave and lost in thought. Valentine came in, and sat down on
one side of the grate, putting his feet on the fender to warm them. When
he had done this, he longed to change his attitude, for John neither
moved nor spoke, and he could not see his face. His own agitation made
him feel that he was watched, and that he could not seem ill at ease,
and must not be the first to move; but at last when the silence and
immobility of John became intolerable to him, he suddenly pushed back
his chair, and looked up. John then turned his head slightly, and their
eyes met.

"You know it,"