Of the doings of Gabriel Carew for some years after his arrival in England I have but an imperfect record, but that is of no importance, as it has no immediate bearing upon my story. Sufficient to say that five years ago he and his wife and Mildred Carew took possession of Rosemullion, which had been long without a tenant. Great preparations were made for their taking up their residence in Rosemullion. The grounds and house were in sad dilapidation, no care having been taken of them for many years past, and a number of workmen were employed to set things in order. In an English neighbourhood such doings always excite curiosity, and when it became known that Gabriel Carew, the master of the property, was coming to reside amongst us, there was a fruitful wagging of tongues. I heard a great many things which not only surprised me, but created within me a lively interest in the gentleman who would soon be my near neighbour, my house being scarcely more than half a mile from the little estate of Rosemullion. It was some time, however, before I made the personal acquaintance of Gabriel Carew. Before that took place I found myself, vicariously, in association with him through my son, and your favourite, Reginald. I can see you in fancy, my dear Max, rubbing your hands and saying, "Ah, we are coming to the kernel at last!" Wait. You have the nut before you, but your imagination must be of a miraculous order to enable you to pronounce upon the exact nature of the fruit when the shell is removed. Among our friends and acquaintances is a lady whose name it is not necessary to mention, who has a pleasant craze for bringing young people together through the medium of "small and early" dances. Reginald went to her hospitable house frequently on these occasions. For my own part, I am not given to these vanities, being, indeed, too old for them. Old fogeys like myself are in the way of boys and girls who are called together for an enjoyment which is their special privilege. Therefore I was content that Reginald should go alone to this lady's house. From one of these visits he returned in an unusually excited mood. He had met and danced with a young lady who, I plainly saw, had taken his heart captive. I inquired her name. Miss Carew. To be exact, he told me her Christian name. Miss Mildred Carew. Of Rosemullion? Yes. Was she alone? No; her mother was with her--a most lovely lady, but of course not the equal of her daughter in beauty. An only child? Yes. These were some of the questions put by me and answered by Reginald. In a very short time he had acquired an amazing amount of information respecting this young lady. He had seen nothing of her father.