or Manor, but which Dartfordshire, in its consternation, henceforward called Brownlow’s. Brownlow’s it was, without a doubt; and Brownlows it became--without the apostrophe--in the most natural way, when things settled down. It was, as old Lady Hetherton said, “quite a _place_, my dear; not one of your little bits of villas, you know.” And though it was so near Masterton that Mr. Brownlow drove or rode in every day to his office, its grounds and gardens and park were equal to those of any nobleman in the county. Old Mrs. Thomson’s fifty thousand pounds had doubled themselves, as money skillfully managed has a way of doing. It had got for her executor every thing a man could desire. First, the wife of his choice--though that gift had been taken from him--and every other worldly good which the man wished or could wish for. He was able to surround the daughter, who was every thing to him--who was more to him, perhaps, than even his wife had ever been--with every kind of delightsome thing; and to provide for his son, and establish him in the world according to his inclinations; and to assume, without departing from his own place, such a position as no former Brownlow had ever occupied in the county. All this came to John Brownlow through old Mrs. Thomson; and Phœbe Thomson, to whom the money in reality belonged, had never turned up to claim it, and now there was but one year to run of the five-and-twenty which limited his responsibilities. All this being made apparent, it is the history of this one year that I have now to tell. CHAPTER II. SARA.