"I am afraid that son of his will prove no credit to the name he bears," Mrs. Carlyon remarked after a pause: and the Squire looked up but did not speak. "I am told that some time ago he had a terrible quarrel with his father. They separated in anger, and he has not been home since. He is supposed to have enlisted as a common soldier and gone out to India." Mr. Denison gave a sort of savage snarl. "Ay, ay, that's good news--rare news," he said. "I would give that boy a thousand pounds to keep him away from his father if I only knew where he was--two thousand to anyone who could point out his grave. An only son too. Ah, ah! Rare news!" At that moment Dr. Jago came in. When he saw the Squire's face, he looked anything but pleased. "Madam," said he to Mrs. Carlyon, "this must not be. If Mr. Denison is to get permanently better, he must be kept free from excitement. It might counteract all the good I am doing him." Mrs. Carlyon proposed a walk to Ella that lovely October afternoon, after making an inquiry or two in the household about the unpleasant topic touched on by the Squire. The air was mellow and gracious; and they took their way to the sands, seating themselves on the very spot where Ella had once sat with Edward Conroy. Never did she sit there but she thought of him; of what he had said; of his looks and tones. She wondered whether he was in Africa; she wondered when she should hear of him. It was low water, and where the vanished tide had been was now a tract of firm yellow sand with hardly a pebble in it; excellent to walk upon. Not till the solitude of the shore was about them did Mrs. Carlyon say a word to her companion on the subject that she had to break to her--their journeying together abroad. Ella was astonished, hurt; perhaps even a little indignant. Could her uncle really wish her to leave him and to go away for so long when he needed companionship and care? Mrs. Carlyon quietly soothed her, persuaded, reassured her; and finally told her that it was _best it should so be_. Allowing her niece to go in alone, Mrs. Carlyon turned her steps towards the little inn--the Leaning Gate. She had her curiosity about the doings of that past snowy night in February, just as other people had. The conversation with the Squire and with Dorothy Stone only served to whet it, to puzzle her more than ever, if that were possible; and to enhance her sympathy for poor Katherine's family.