"Yes; and mother says the old uncle Mortimer (that one who lived at Wigfield) improved it so much; he had so many trees thinned out, and a pond dug where there used to be a swamp. We've got some carp in that pond. Do you think, if I fed them, they would get tame?" Brandon told some anecdote of certain carp that he had seen abroad, and then asked-- "Do you like the glen, my boy--is it a favourite place of yours?" "Pretty well," answered Peter. "There are not so many nests, though, as there used to be. It used to be quite dark with trees." "Did you like it then?" "Yes, it was jolly; but----" "But what?" asked Brandon carelessly. "Grandmother didn't like it," said the boy. Brandon longed to ask why. "She was very old, my grandmother." "Yes. And so she didn't like the glen?" "No; but the old uncle has had a walk, a sort of path, made through it; and mamma says I may like it as much as I please, so does aunt Laura." "You know," continued the child, in an argumentative tone, "there's no place in the world where somebody hasn't died." "Now, what does this mean?" thought Brandon. "I would fain raise the ghost if I could. Is he coming up now, or is he not?" Presently, however, Peter made some allusion to the family misfortune--the death of the eldest son, by which Brandon perceived that it had taken place in the glen. He then dropped the subject, nothing more that was said till a few minutes before they reached the tutor's lodgings being of the least interest. Then, as they turned the edge of a wood, Peter looked back. "You won't forget the turn of the lane you are to take, will you, Mr. Brandon? and you've got the key?" "Yes," said Brandon. "It's a green sort of door, in the park-paling. A new one has been made, because that one was so shabby. It's the one my uncles went through when they ran away, you know." "What uncles?" asked Brandon, not at all suspecting the truth, and not much interested. "Why, that one who belonged to you," said Peter, "and the other one who belongs to Bertie and Hugh. Didn't you know?" he exclaimed, having observed the momentary flash of surprise that Brandon made haste to conceal. "They ran away," he repeated, as Brandon walked beside him making no answer, "a very long time before my mamma was born, and they never came back any more till I was nearly six years old." "So that's your tutor's house, is it?" said Brandon, and thereupon he took leave of him. "Amazing!" he said to himself as he walked away. "What next, I wonder?" As he returned he revolved this information in his mind with increasing surprise. John Mortimer had a proud and confident way of talking about his father that did not sound as if he knew that he had begun life by running away from home. Valentine, he was well aware, knew nothing about it.