The rector wheeled back his chair, and glanced with fond, trusting pride at his bright, strong, handsome son. "Read that, Eustace," he said, with a slight sigh. "And now, my boy, tell me all about it." The young man's face reddened as he took in the contents of the note, and he let fall one or two expressions highly uncomplimentary to the Squire of Cranston. Then he obeyed his father's request to the very letter. The rector listened with clouded brow. There seemed to be a kind of fatality lying between his house and that of the Dorriens. First Olive, and now Eustace--both, by the way, his favourite children. He foresaw endless trouble in the circumstance. But trouble must be faced and overcome, not shirked--was his creed. If the boy was really in earnest, why, an early attachment of this kind might not be a bad thing for him; the more refining influences at work over a young man's life the better. He knew nothing of Nellie Dorrien, personally, but he had greatly liked her appearance, and as for the opposition of her family, why, Eustace was a man and must fight his own battles. It was different in Olive's case. "You are sure you are in earnest about this, Eustace?" he said, when the young fellow had finished his recital. "But you are very young yet, my boy, just at the age for receiving impressions, and also for changing them. What if, later, you were to find out you had been hasty, and had come to think differently?" Needless to say, the answer was conclusive and decided--vehement even. The rector smiled good-naturedly, as he encouraged his son to talk on this congenial topic to his heart's content, while he listened. It had always been his plan to cultivate his children's confidence to the very utmost, and these evening talks over the social weed between father and son, when the latter was at home, were of almost nightly occurrence. It would have been a very strange thing, indeed, that would have impaired the existing confidence between them. Certainly General Dorrien's ill-conditioned missive was powerless to do so. "I'm afraid you must send him an apology, before you go, Eustace," said the rector. "You see, strictly speaking, you were trespassing in his grounds." "Well, yes. I suppose I must. I'll apologise to the old curmudgeon for being in his park, but for nothing else," answered Eustace stoutly. "And that sneaking rascal, Johnston, he's at the bottom of the mischief. I could see it in his eye. Good-night, dad. Don't let this affair worry you at all, whatever you do." CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE. HIS LAST FRIEND. Midwinter in the metropolis!