"It was all wrong. He was a tradesman. A good-looking, educated man—I grant that; but a tradesman. Never was such a thing heard of, as for a Carew to stoop to that. You see, Anne, she had learnt to like him before she knew anything of his position, or who he was. He was a visitor at the place, just as she was. Of course she ought to have given him up. Not she; she gave herself and her money to him, and a very pretty little fortune she had." "Did she marry in disobedience?" "That cannot be charged upon her, for she was alone in the world, and her own mistress. But a Carew of Keppe-Carew ought to have known better." "She was not of Keppe-Carew, Selina." "She was. Don't you know that, Anne? her father was Carew of Keppe-Carew; and when he died without a son, his brother, your mamma's father and mine, succeeded to Keppe-Carew. He died in his turn, leaving no son, and Keppe-Carew and its broad lands went to a distant man, the male heir. We three Carews have all married badly, in one way or another." Mrs. Edwin Barley was speaking dreamily then, as if forgetting anybody heard her. "She, Frances, married Hemson the tradesman, throwing a barrier between herself and her family; Ursula married Colonel Hereford, to wear out a few of her best years in India, and then to die in poverty, and leave an unprovided-for child; and I have married him, Edwin Barley. Which is the worst, I wonder?" I thought over what she said in my busy brain. Few children had so active a one. "Selina, you say you married Mr. Edwin Barley because he is rich." "Well." "Why did you, when you were rich yourself?" "_I_ rich? You will count riches differently when you are older. Why, Anne, do you know what my fortune was? Four thousand pounds. Ursula had the same, and she and Colonel Hereford spent it. That put a notion in my father's head, and he tied mine up tight enough, securing it to my absolute use until I die." "Will it be Mr. Barley's when you die, Selina?" "Were I to die before next Monday, it would be yours, pussy, for it is so settled. After that, if I die without a will, it would go to Mr. Edwin Barley; but I shall be of age next Monday, and then can make one. I think it must be my first care—a will;" she laughed. "So munificent a sum to dispose of! Shall I leave it to you?" The room-door was pushed open, and some one entered. A shortish man, of nearly forty years, in a velveteen shooting-coat and gaiters, and with a dark face: the same dark face that looked out from the trees in the avenue. I shrank round Selina with a sudden fear. Not that the features were particularly ill-favoured in themselves, but so dark and stern. And the remembrance of the fright was on me still. "Where are you coming to, child?" she said. "This is Mr. Edwin Barley." CHAPTER II. IN THE WOOD.