"MY DEAR SON ROBERT,--There may arise a question of your legitimacy when the time shall arrive for you to take possession of your grandfather's property. On the day I left Westerbury for ever, I married your mother, Martha Ann Hughes--she would not else have come with me. We were married in her parish church at Westerbury, St. James the Less, and you will find it duly entered in the register. This will be sufficient to prove your rights, so that there may be no litigation. "Your affectionate father, "RT. CARR." And, scarcely knowing whether she was awake or dreaming, while Mrs. Dundyke, in vain attempted to recover her astonishment, Mrs. Carr wrote a line of explanation inside an envelope, and despatched the all-important document to Westerbury to Mr. Fauntleroy. CHAPTER XII. MR. RICHARDS' MORNING CALL. Mr. Fauntleroy was seated at breakfast, when this missive reached him. His two strapping daughters were with him: buxom, vulgar damsels, attired this morning in Magenta skirts and straw-coloured jackets. Mrs. Fauntleroy had been some years dead, and they ruled the house, and nearly ruled the lawyer. Strong-willed man though he was, carrying things out of doors with an iron hand, and sometimes a coarse one, he would yield to domestic tyranny; as many another has to do, if it were but known. It was fond tyranny, however, here; for whatever may have been the faults of the Miss Fauntleroys, they loved their father with a tender love. They were the only children of the lawyer--his co-heiresses--and to him they were as the apple of his eye. The room they sat in faced the garden--a large fine garden at the back of the house. The leaves were red with the glowing tints of autumn, and as Mr. Fauntleroy looked up from his well-covered breakfast-table at the October sky, he made some remark upon the famous run the hounds would make; and a half sigh escaped his lips that his own hunting days were gone for ever. "Would you be afraid to ride now, pa?" "Look at my weight, Lizzy." "I think some who ride are as heavy as you," was Miss Elizabeth's answer. "Ah! but they are used to it; they have kept the practice up. Never a better follower than I in my younger days--always in at the death--but that's a long while ago now. I gave up hunting when I settled down. What d'ye call that, Bab?" He was pointing with his fork to a dish apart. Miss Barbara looked at it critically, and did not recognise it. "I dare say it's some dish the new cook has sent up. It looks nice, pa." "Hand some of it over, then," said Mr. Fauntleroy. She helped him plentifully. The lawyer and his daughters were all fond of nice dishes, and liked good servings of them; as perhaps their large frames and their high colours testified. Miss Lizzy pushed up her plate. "I'll take some, too, Bab." "About that pic-nic, pa? Are we----"