“What is the matter, mamma, dear mamma?” said the youngest, pushing himself between Philip and his mother. “Your father is coming back, this day--this very hour;--and you--you--child--you, Philip--” Here sobs broke in upon her words, and left her speechless. The letter that had produced this effect ran as follows: TO MRS MORTON, Fernside Cottage. “DEAREST KATE,--My last letter prepared you for the news I have now to relate--my poor uncle is no more. Though I had seen little of him, especially of late years, his death sensibly affected me; but I have at least the consolation of thinking that there is nothing now to prevent my doing justice to you. I am the sole heir to his fortune--I have it in my power, dearest Kate, to offer you a tardy recompense for all you have put up with for my sake;--a sacred testimony to your long forbearance, your unreproachful love, your wrongs, and your devotion. Our children, too--my noble Philip!--kiss them, Kate--kiss them for me a thousand times. “I write in great haste--the burial is just over, and my letter will only serve to announce my return. My darling Catherine, I shall be with you almost as soon as these lines meet your eyes--those clear eyes, that, for all the tears they have shed for my faults and follies, have never looked the less kind. Yours, ever as ever, “PHILIP BEAUFORT. This letter has told its tale, and little remains to explain. Philip Beaufort was one of those men of whom there are many in his peculiar class of society--easy, thoughtless, good-humoured, generous, with feelings infinitely better than his principles.