A desultory conversation followed, which lasted nearly the whole period of their journey. At last the vehicle approached a magnificent baronial seat, through a long avenue of lime trees, then in full blossom. "Here we are!" said the older Mortlake. Upon leaving the carriage, Tom and his companions entered a spacious hall of the olden time, the proprieties of which had been carefully preserved, and which was pretty much in the same state as it had been during the reign of Elizabeth. Taking Tom by the hand, his friend welcomed him to his family residence, and told him that a lady up stairs--an old friend of his--was waiting to receive him. "But," added he, "you will perhaps require to go to your apartments." Tom having put himself to rights, was led by Mortlake to the drawing-room, where he beheld his mysterious female visitant and a young lady of about nineteen, who, from her resemblance, it was not difficult to discover was the daughter of his host. Two fine-looking aristocratic lads, the one aged perhaps sixteen, and the other nearly eighteen, were standing beside their sister, chatting and laughing with Mr Tresham. The lady rose to receive her guest, when Tresham interposing, exclaimed:-- "Allow me--Lady Mortlake, Mr Mortlake; Mr Mortlake, Lady Mortlake." Tom was confused, certainly; but his good manners did not forsake him, and he expressed his gratification at again beholding the lady, in appropriate and feeling terms. "Mr Mortlake," said she, "I am happy--very happy--to receive you at Vavasour, which, I trust, you will consider as your home." Turning to her daughter--"Emily, my love, this is Mr Mortlake, whom you have heard your father and myself talk of so frequently." He was then introduced to the sons, by whom he was received with equal kindness. His patron next took Tom aside. "The mystery," said he, "will soon be explained; in me you behold Lord Mortlake; but, on that account, not less your sincere friend. No one, not even Tresham, but believes you to be a relation of the family, except Lady Mortlake and myself; so be collected, and assume a character which, some day or other, I hope confidently may be yours legally." The latter words sounded strangely in our hero's ears; but this was a day of wonders, and when they were to end he could not conjecture. "Sir Edward Vavasour?" he whispered. "Is no more!" was the reply. A week passed happily, and Mortlake, in the society he esteemed and respected, was superlatively blessed. One morning after breakfast, Lord Mortlake took him into the library, and, locking the door, bade him be seated. "Mortlake," said his lordship, "the time for explanation is at hand; it ought not any longer to be delayed; but, before disclosing much that may astonish you, be assured that I make the disclosure without seeking any pledge of secrecy from you. I shall leave it entirely to yourself, when you have heard all, to take what course you may judge expedient."