"I beg your pardon, Sir John," returned Smeaton. "You asked after Lady Eskdale, and I replied that she was better; but the name of wife was never mentioned between us. I spoke, indeed, fully with regard to my mother's illness; but, she being the only Countess of Eskdale living, I might naturally assume that your words referred to her. I am a single man, I beg to assure you." "Well, my lord, a happy condition," remarked Sir John. "Heaven forbid that I should attribute bigamy to you, or saddle you even with a single wife, when you have not got one. I would advise you, however, as you have no wife, to get rid of Keanton; for troublous times are coming, I can see very clearly; and, although you have contrived to keep possession of the estate so long, I fear very much you would not be able to hold it longer, if there should be anything like a disturbance in the country." "I trust that will not be the case," said Smeaton, "although I should not, of course, object to the sale of the place if it could be effected at a fair price. Yet there are memories which cling about our old ancestral homes, from the influence of which we cannot well divest our hearts. I know nothing of this Keanton, though I was born there. I recollect not one stick or stone about it--have very rarely heard it spoken of, except for the purpose of giving me information which might be useful to me in any unexpected change of circumstances. Nevertheless, Sir John, so strongly is man's weak heart bound by the fine chain of association, that to put my hand to the deed which conveyed it to others would cost me a pang, severer, perhaps, than any other, except that of seeing it wrested from myself and my mother without that compensation which might secure comfort and happiness to her old age."