house; may we only be half as happy at Rockdeane ! I could have wished that my father had come into this before me. He would have made my path easier, and a name and a position inherited from him must needs have been more valuable. His was a grievous loss to us."

It was so unusual for Philip to speak of his father, and Mrs. Dennistoun had been so accustomed to lament her husband's death in the very prime of his manhood-for her own and her children's sake more than for Philip'sthat she was almost startled by the earnestness with which he spoke.

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"He left us the best friend in you, Philip," she said, her voice trembling with emotion. "He trusted in you to take care of your brother and sister, and well you have fulfilled his wishes."

Then Philip was silent again; at last he said, “My father knew nothing of his uncle, this old Sir Jasper. I wonder what his history was?"

"He was a peculiar, eccentric man," Mrs. Dennistoun said. "Once, just before Jasper's birth, I remember your father went to Rockdeane. He was on his way from Scotland. He told me of the visit and of the old house, which stands on a rocky cliff two miles out of Rodham. I recollect perfectly his account of the dreary desolation in which the old man lived in a corner of the house, seeing no one, and separated almost entirely from his fellow-creatures. Only the doctor and the lawyer ever had any communication with him.”

"He was never married, was he?"

“No, I think he was a bachelor; but your father seldom mentioned him. I really do not think he ever dwelt on the thought of his succeeding to Rockdeane.

He

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used sometimes in his last illness to say that it was a comfort to him to know you would be able to do all that was necessary for us some day. Once, I remember, he added, 'Unless Sir Jasper should marry, as many old men have done.' Your grandfather, you know, married when very young, and he was scarcely of age when your father was born."

"I have heard that, and that Sir Jasper always cut him for that piece of indiscretion. You must not let your Jasper be as indiscreet, for fear I should follow the old man's example. Now, I think, with an uninteresting day's journey before me, I had better go to bed. Good night. I will write to you from Rockdeane."

Then he was gone, and his stepmother was left alone. She was always on perfectly easy terms with Philip, but he was seldom confidential as he had been to-night, and he did not often mention his father, who had died when he was absent on one of his autumn rambles. He had travelled home in hot haste, but too late to see him; and that it had been so, was one of the saddest memories of Philip's life. In all his dealings with Mrs. Dennistoun, Philip had always been, as she said, kind and considerate. The portion which he inherited from his father had been but small; for, if Sir Jasper had been saving and miserly, his brother had been lavish and extravagant, nor was his son economical in his expenditure. He was generous and unselfish, and at his death there was little left but his wife's marriage settlement, and Philip's small fortune as his eldest son. He had married twice-the first time for love-the sweet and gentle girl, who was Philip's mother; the next time for love also, in which some amount of chivalrous desire to protect the daughter of an old friend, and place her in a position of comfort as

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his wife, certainly mingled. She had repaid his care for her by affection, and their married life had been happy. Philip had just been called to the bar when his father died, and Mrs. Dennistoun, at his desire, left the roomy country rectory-house for the pretty villa at Kensington, and there Philip lived when it suited him, his means being united with his stepmother's to make it a comfortable home for his young brother and sister. At first it had been anything but easy to maintain the position he had taken up, but latterly his briefs had been plentiful, and he was known as one of the rising men on the Western Circuit. As Mrs. Dennistoun gathered her work together, and placed books and papers, and Rosie's numerous belongings, in order, before leaving the drawing-room for the night, visions of the future floated before her. As mistress of Rockdeane, how many of her aspirations would be fulfilled. A position which many would envy was now hers; the best society of the neighbourhood at her command for Rosie, her boy taking his place amongst the sons of the nobility and gentry in and near Rodham. A goodly staff of servants, carriages, and horses; no difficulties as to dress, or the appointments of the house and table. All these considerations were anything but unimportant to Mrs. Dennistoun, and had presented themselves to her mind in all the most minute details before she lay down to rest that night.

Her reign might not be long at Rockdeane, for Philip might marry, although, according to all appearances, it did not seem very probable. But, short or long, Mrs. Dennistoun felt that she was up to the requirements of her position, and that Philip should never have cause to regret that she was the mistress of his house.

"Bright days were coming at last for them all," she

said to herself, as she heard the cab-wheels roll away the next morning, and Rosie, as fresh as a flower in the early light, came into her room to tell her, "That Philip was gone, and had taken a great heap of letters and papers to get through on his journey."

CHAPTER II.

OLD THINGS AND NEW.

"TAKE them, O Grave, and let them lie
Folded upon thy narrow shelves,
As garment by the soul laid by
And precious only to ourselves.

"Take them, O great Eternity;
Our little life is but a gust

That bends the branches of thy Tree,
And hurls the branches in the Dust."

H. W. LONGFELLOW.

THE sun was setting behind the dark-browed mountains of the Lake District when Sir Philip Dennistoun found himself nearing his northern home. He had telegraphed to his lawyer that he would be at Rodham by the 5.10 train, and, punctual to its time, the express was signalled at the station, and Mr. Williamson stood upon the platform to receive the new master of Rockdeane.

“Sir Philip Dennistoun, I think,” Mr. Williamson said, as Philip stepped out of the carriage, his small portmanteau in his hand, and a satchel strapped across his shoulder.

“Mr. Williamson,” Philip responded, holding out his hand, “you are clever to make me out so quickly." And, as he spoke, he looked into the frank, honest face of Sir