It was too far distant to distinguish the faces of the children, but as the little ones flitted about on the terrace it could be seen that they were following the movements of a white shaggy dog, whose sharp, shrill bark of pleasure sounded faintly across the park. "They are the children of Lady Dora Lennard," said cousin Sarah, as they turned to continue their walk; "I heard that she was staying with the earl for a few days till they go to London for the season." "Then Lord Rivers, whom I met two years ago, is still living, and these are his grandchildren, I suppose?" "Yes, the children of his youngest daughter, who married Sir William Lennard, and retains her own title of Lady Dora. Lord Rivers is still a fine old man at the age of sixty." "Is he so old as that, cousin Sarah? Why, he did not appear older than papa when I met him two years ago." "And yet, Mary, he has aged considerably since the death of Lady Rivers about ten years ago. I have heard uncle say that in his young days he was one of the finest men in the county." "He has a son to inherit the title and estates, I suppose?" said Mary. "Yes, Lord Woodville; and another daughter, who has been married several years to a Scotch nobleman. She inherits her mother's delicate health, and seldom visits Englefield." Thus talking the ladies walked on till they reached the stile, over which Mary stepped with the lightness and activity of youth, and then turned to assist her cousin; neither of them, however, was prepared for the surprise that awaited them. To explain this surprise we must carry our readers to the station at Basingstoke. The coach road, which has been continued on to that station for the convenience of passengers, passes round a hill rising just above the line. On this hill stands the ruins of an old abbey, forming a picturesque and attractive object to travellers by rail. One of these, a gentleman who had just left the station, paused for some moments to examine the singular appearance of the old ruins, and while thus engaged a voice at his elbow startled him. "Curious old place, sir." "Yes," was the reply; "what does it belong to?" "It be the remains of an old abbey, sir, as was built in the time of Henry VIII. It were partly destroyed by Cromwell's armies," continued the old man, who had a cottage near, and often picked up a gratuity for his information from passengers. "There's nought but the ruins of the chapel left, and they seem strong enough to stand again wind and weather for hundreds of years to come. Why, sir, I remembers that there arch with all the moss and ivy a-covering it when I was a boy, and I'm nearly fourscore now." "What was the name of the old abbey?" asked the gentleman. "I don't know, sir; but them ruins are part of the chapel called the Chapel of the Holy Ghost. It's a wonderful name."