“My dear, could you guess who has bought the old place?” he said. “Yes; Lord Clydesfold,” she replied, with her eyes flashing. “And--and--oh, papa, papa,” and she burst into tears, “you would not take it from him?” The squire soothed her. “My dear, he hasn’t offered it to me,” he retorted, rather dryly. “He intends living here himself.” She stared and wiped her eyes. “And when can we go?” she demanded, restlessly. “Very soon,” he said. “But not too soon for the new owner, it seems.” “Oh!” “Yes, he wants us gone at once. Wants to do it up.” “Oh!” “Yes; and we’ll go to Paris, I think, dear.” “So he has sent us to Paris, has he?” she said. “One would think we were his bond slaves.” “We are--in gratitude,” he said, gently. She melted in a moment. “I’ll go and tell Bessie,” she said, meekly. In two days they started. All the preparations, those pertaining to business, had been made by Lord Clydesfold. He also saw to every little detail of their journey; engaged a special Pullman, took their Channel tickets, ordered rooms at one of the inexpensive hotels in Paris--but did not go near her. The squire had bid him a good-by which was as affectionate as that of a father to his best-beloved son, and, as Clydesfold held the old man’s hands, the squire said: “I’m to say good-by to Olivia for you?” “No,” he said; “she will take my heart, my every thought with her; she has no need of a good-by. I have no message for her. I want her to forget; and the sight of me, a word from me, would cause her to remember.” “I understand. God bless you, my boy!” murmured the old man. In a few days it was publicly known that the squire had been “sold up,” and that Lord Clydesfold had bought house and lands, horses and cattle, every stick and stone. Two days afterward, twenty or thirty men, carrying pickaxes and spades, were seen to tramp up the avenue, and, to the amazement of all, they were seen to set to work cutting a new road. But everybody understood Lord Clydesfold’s intentions when it was observed that the new road diverged as far as possible from the old one, and his object was made still clearer when an army of men fell to work with Portland cement, and altered The Maples from red to white. And when they had finished, the villagers were startled by seeing, in neatly carved letters, “Hospital for Convalescent Children” along its front. The Grange, too, was redecorated, and, though not altered in character, still very much brightened and lightened. All this took time, and Lord Clydesfold never left the place for a day, but superintended the whole with as much--probably more--energy than if he had been a clerk of the works. He and Bertie were constantly together, and Clydesfold almost lived at the Carfields’. At last he had accomplished all he had planned, and one day he remarked quite casually at breakfast: “I think of running over to Paris to-morrow.” Bertie and Lord Carfield exchanged glances. “Very well,” said the latter. “Early train?”