"This man's son!" exclaimed Mr. Thornton. "We never heard of that, and never received any answer to the first letter--perhaps it was intercepted. However, Mr. William Thornton almost immediately took out letters of administration to Colonel Thornton's property, as his next of kin--although your aunt had so long enjoyed undisputed possession. He has since, with the aid of this hopeful son of his, been fencing himself in with all sorts of legal forms and quibbles--has got possession of the negroes, let the old house and plantation, and is now, we understand, moving the legislature to escheat the property and grant it to him; the heirs being, as he declares, aliens." "But does your law sanction such doings?" I asked. "It sanctions a good many things that it should not sanction," replied Mr. Thornton; "and these matters of escheat and administration are so loosely managed here, that the property of persons dying without relations actually on the spot is an object of speculation and a means of livelihood to half the rogues in the state. Thank God, my dear young friend, you are here at last; for it is not too late yet to stop this iniquitous affair, though he has sold all the cattle and all the horses, which is a dead loss, I suppose." "But can he not be made accountable?" I inquired. Mr. Thornton smiled. "There are two sorts of banks," he answered, "from one of which you can draw money, from the other nothing but pebblestones. Now, Mr. William Thornton's bank is of the latter quality. The court required security, it is true, when they granted the letters of administration, but took men who are more deeply bankrupt than himself. That is the way we manage things in Virginia, especially when the people who are really interested do not appear to take care of their own property." "But, my dear sir," I replied, "it was impossible. I was in India with my regiment. As some battles were coming on--expected every day--it was impossible either to ask for leave of absence or to sell out, until the war was at an end. As soon as that occurred, I _did_ sell out; for the climate did not agree with me. I got bilious, and home-sick, and moody; disliked pillaus, abominated rice, and could not bear curry; was thoroughly disgusted with pale ale and claret, and thought Allahabad's sun the most unpleasant gentleman that ever rode the sky. Besides, I did not know what my aunt had left me. It might have been nothing but an old farthingale, for aught I knew to the contrary."