Mr. Hamilton, on his death-bed, exacted a promise from his son that he would not permit the island to fall back into its old habits; but that, if required, he would visit it himself. The visit was not required, but Percy Hamilton (the father of the present possessor of Oakwood), from respect to his father's memory, made a voyage to Samboe on the demise of the elder Wilson. He found every thing flourishing and happy; Frederic Wilson had been received as their pastor and head, with as much joy as their regret for his father would permit; and Mr. Hamilton returned to England, satisfied with himself, and inexpressibly touched by the veneration still entertained in that distant island for his father. The same promise was demanded by him from his son, and Arthur Hamilton had visited Feroe directly after the loss of his parent, and before his engagement with Miss Manvers. He found it in the same satisfactory condition as his predecessors had done, and the letters he regularly received confirmed it; but for the last year and a half he had received no tidings. Frederic Wilson, he knew, was dead, but his last account had told him his eldest son, who had been educated in Denmark, had been gladly received by the simple people, and promised fair to be as much loved, and do the same good as his father and grandfather. The silence then was incomprehensible, and Mr. Hamilton had resolved, if another year passed without intelligence, it would be a positive duty to visit it himself. CHAPTER II. A LETTER, AND ITS CONSEQUENCES. It was the seventh of June, and one of those glorious mornings, when Nature looks lovelier than ever. The windows of the breakfast-room were thrown widely open, and never did the superb trees of Oakwood Park look richer or display a greater variety of green. The flower-garden, on part of which the breakfast-room opened, was actually dazzling with its profusion of brilliant flowers, on which the sun looked down so gloriously; a smooth lawn whose green was a perfect emerald, stretched down from the parterre, till it was lost in woody openings, which disclosed the winding river, that, lying as a lake on one side, appeared to sweep round some exquisite scenery on the opposite side, and form another lake, about a mile further. It was Emmeline's favorite view, and she always declared, that it so varied its aspects of loveliness, she was sure it never looked two mornings exactly alike, and so long would she stand and admire, that her mother often threatened to send her her breakfast in her own room, where the view, though picturesque, would not so completely turn her attention from the dull realities of life. There were some letters on the table this morning, so she had a longer time to drink in poetry than usual.