He thought this as he came up from his room. The post arrived at the same moment. A letter was delivered to him. It was from Mabel, announcing her cousin's death. She called him her dear Harry, and concluded with "ever the same." Had he been alone he would have pressed the letter to his lips; as it was, he merely repeated the more important part of its contents to his grandmother. Utterly worldly, and devoid of any higher feeling, the old lady received the news in a heartless way. She scarcely uttered an expression of regret; indeed, Harry could not help seeing that she was highly pleased. "You must marry the heiress," she said; "you must praise her to Mr. Kyffin, and I will back you up, and we will see what he can do for you." She suddenly seemed to think Harry appeared doubtful as to what he should do. "I tell you, boy, I'll cut you off to a shilling," she said, getting up and laying her hand on his arm. "You will be a beggar, and a wretched beggar, if you don't follow my advice. I will not say more; I have said enough; but remember." "Yes, your ladyship has said enough," answered Harry. "I love Mabel too well to have her for the sake of her fortune, and I have no wish to see her father die that I may become its possessor." "Nonsense, boy!" exclaimed the old lady, in a harsh, shrill voice. "You're a fool, Harry." The unpleasant conversation was interrupted by a servant entering, and announcing a visitor. "Mr. Flockton, who is he?" asked Harry, as he looked at the card. "I know him; I am glad he has come," said Lady Tryon; "it will save me a long drive into the city."