“I remember,” said Mrs Atheling, suddenly, “when we were first married, we went to visit an old aunt of papa’s, who lived quite close to Winterbourne Hall. Do you remember old Aunt Bridget, William? We have not heard anything of her for many a day; she lived in an old house, half made of timber, and ruinous with ivy. I remember it very well; I thought it quite pretty when I was a girl.” “Ruinous! you mean beautiful with ivy, mamma,” said Marian. “No, my dear; ivy is a very troublesome thing,” said Mrs Atheling, “and makes a very damp house, I assure you, though it looks pretty. This was just upon the edge of a wood, and on a hill. There was a very fine view from it; all the spires, and domes, and towers looked beautiful with the morning sun upon them. I suppose Aunt Bridget must still be living, William? I wonder why she took offence at us. What a pleasant place that would have been to take the children in summer! It was called the Old Wood Lodge, and there was a larger place near which was the Old Wood House, and the nearest house to that, I believe, was the Hall. It was a very pretty place; I remember it so well.” Agnes and Marian exchanged glances; this description was quite enough to set their young imaginations a-glow;--perhaps, for the sake of her old recollections, Mamma would like this better than the sea-side. “Should you like to go again, mamma?” said Agnes, in a half whisper. Mamma smiled, and brightened, and shook her head. “No, my dear, no; you must not think of such a thing--travelling is so very expensive,” said Mrs Atheling; but the colour warmed and brightened on her cheek with pleasure at the thought. “And of course there’s another family of children,” said Papa, in a somewhat sullen under-tone. “Aunt Bridget, when she dies, will leave the cottage to one of them. They always wanted it. Yes, to be sure,--to him that hath shall be given,--it is the way of the world.” “William, William; you forget what you say!” cried Mrs Atheling, in alarm. “I mean no harm, Mary,” said Papa, “and the words bear that meaning as well as another: it is the way of the world.” “Had I known your interest in the family, I might have brought you some information,” interposed Mr Endicott. “I have a letter of introduction to Viscount Winterbourne--and saw a great deal of the Honourable George Rivers when he travelled in the States.” “I have no interest in them--not the slightest,” said Mr Atheling, hastily; and Harry Oswald moved away from where he had been standing to resume his place by Marian, a proceeding which instantly distracted the attention of his cousin and rival. The girls were talking to each other of this new imaginary paradise. Harry Oswald could not explain how it was, but he began immediately with all his skill to make a ridiculous picture of the old house, which was half made of timber, and ruinous with ivy: he could not make out why he listened with such a jealous pang to the very name of this Old Wood Lodge. CHAPTER XX.