On reaching his house in Grosvenor Street, his heart fluttered while he knocked and rang; and he seemed to himself to shrink from the accustomed obsequious voice and manner of the powdered menial who admitted him. Having ordered a slight dinner, he repaired to his library. The only letter which had arrived since he had left in the morning, bore the Grilston postmark, and was in the handwriting of Mrs. Aubrey. He opened it with trembling eagerness. It was crossed--the dear familiar handwriting!--from beginning to end, and full of heart-subduing tenderness. Then it had a little enclosure, with a strange, straggling superscription, "To my Papa;" and, on opening it, he read, in similar characters-- "My dear Papa, I love you very very much. Do come home. Mamma sends her love. Your dutiful son, "CHARLES AUBREY. "P. S.--Agnes sends her love; she cannot write because she is so little. Please to come home directly. "CHARLES A., YATTON." Aubrey saw how it was--that Mrs. Aubrey had either affected to write in her little son's name, or had actually guided his pen. On the outside she had written in pencil-- "Charles says, he hopes that you will answer his letter directly." Aubrey's lip quivered, and his eyes filled with tears. Putting the letters into his bosom, he rose and walked to and fro, with feelings which cannot be described. The evening was very gloomy. Rain poured down incessantly. He was the only person in that spacious and elegant house, except the servants left in charge of it; and dreary and desolate enough it appeared. He was but its nominal owner--their nominal master! In order to save the post, he sat down to write home--(_home_! his heart sank within him at the thought)--and informed Mrs. Aubrey and his sister of the event for which his previous letters had prepared them; adding that he should set off for Yatton by the mail of the ensuing night, and that he was perfectly well. He also wrote a line or two, in large printed characters, by way of answer to his little correspondent, his son, towards whom--ah!--how his heart yearned! and having despatched his packet, probably the last he should ever frank, he partook of a hasty and slight dinner, and then resigned himself to deep meditation upon his critical circumstances. He was perfectly aware of his precise position, in point of law, namely, that he was safe in the possession of the Yatton property, (with the exception of the trifle which was occupied by Jolter, and had been the object of the action just determined,) till another action should have been brought, directly seeking its recovery; and that by forcing his opponent to bring such action, he might put him to considerable risk of retaining his verdict, and thereby greatly harass him, and ward off, indefinitely, the evil day from himself. By