At first he determined not to return to England; not to accept the fortune and position which were now his. Then came Mr. Churchill's letter--a distinct, explicit letter--and he knew as he read it that it was useless any longer to hide the truth. Mr. Churchill would insist on learning his daughter's fate; would no doubt, now that he knew his address, find him out and force it from his lips. With an intense feeling of shrinking pain John Temple therefore accepted the position thrust upon him. He telegraphed to Mrs. Temple at Woodlea that he would arrive there, he expected, on such a date, and he telegraphed also to Mr. Harrison. He did not, however, write to Mr. Churchill; he felt this was beyond his strength. "I will tell him the truth," he told himself, and tried to nerve himself for the bitter task. "They may do what they like," he thought, gloomily; "I can not, I think, suffer more than I have already done." Mrs. Temple was greatly excited when she received this telegram. Her husband already lay in his grave, and had been followed there by his friends and tenantry. His young widow, however, did not go. She watched the long procession leave the Hall with dry eyes. She had got accustomed to the idea and was not even thinking of the dead when they bore him away. Mr. Churchill was one of the mourners, and he could not help having a certain uneasy feeling in his mind as he listened to the solemn words of the service, while the old squire was laid by his young son's side. He had heard from the bankers, who had informed him that Mr. John Temple was at Cairo, and that they had forwarded his letters to him there. But no word had come from John Temple in reply. Mr. Churchill, therefore, could not understand it. But surely soon the mystery would end; in fact it must end, Mr. Churchill determined, when he turned away from the squire's grave. And a day later brought John Temple's telegram to Mrs. Temple. Her mother, who had not left the Hall since the squire's death, carried it to her, and Mrs. Temple tore it open with trembling hands. "He is coming home!" she cried, and that was all. "John Temple?" asked Mrs. Layton, aghast, who had secretly begun to hope that something might have happened to the new owner of Woodlea. "Yes," answered Mrs. Temple, without looking up. She was re-reading John Temple's telegram, which was couched in his usual somewhat graceful language. In it he expressed his deep regret for "your, may I say our, great loss." Then came the day and date that he expected to arrive in England, and on the following day, after he had done so, he proposed to go to Woodlea, "if quite convenient to yourself." Mrs. Temple smiled a little scornfully as she read the last words. "He has the whip hand now," she thought; "he said I turned him out of the house, and now he can turn me."