Yet, as he walked along, his heart was very sore, and his face was troubled. “Poor old Betty!” he muttered to himself—“she thinks I’m Dandy Chater—and a blackguard; what would she think, if she knew that the boy she lost in the bush was saved, after all; and that he stands here to-day, in his dead brother’s place, and under his dead brother’s name? What would she say, if she knew that I am her boy, as she calls me—Philip Crowdy—or Philip Chater?” CHAPTER IV A SUNDAY TO BE REMEMBERED The sun, shining brightly over the trim lawns which stretched before Chater Hall, seemed to declare, deceitfully enough, the next morning, that winter was dead and buried, and spring come in full force to take its place. Philip Crowdy—or Philip Chater, as we must now call him—waking in the unaccustomed softnesses of a great bed, and gradually opening his eyes upon the luxuries about him, awoke as gradually to a remembrance of his new position; looked at it lazily and comfortably, as a man will who wakes from deep sleep; and then came to a full realisation of all it meant, and sat up quickly in bed. “Yes,” he muttered softly to himself, nodding his head as he looked about him—“I am bound to admit that when one has slept—or tried to sleep—for a few weeks, in a narrow berth aboard an evil-smelling sailing vessel, with a scarcity of blankets, and no pillows worth mentioning, this”—he looked round the big bed, and smiled—“this is a very decent apology for Heaven. And—such being the case—I want to stop in Paradise as long as possible.” He stretched out his hand, and pulled the bell-rope. In a moment or two, the young servant Harry made his appearance—coming softly into the room, and regarding his master with some surprise. Philip Chater, quick to take his cue from the other’s expression, glanced carelessly at Dandy Chater’s watch, which hung near his head. “Rather early, Harry? Yes—I know it is; but I’m restless this morning. I shall get dressed at once. Put me out some things—you know what I want; I don’t want to be bothered about it—and get my bath ready. Oh—by the way”—he called out, as the young man was moving away—“I shall go to church.” The servant stopped, as though he had been shot—even came back a pace or two towards the bed. The expression of his face was such an astonished one, that Philip knew that the day, from a point of view of good luck, had begun very badly. “I beg your pardon, sir,” said Harry, with something very like the flicker of a smile about his mouth. “I said,” repeated Philip Chater, slowly and emphatically, being determined to brave the matter out—“that I should go to church.” “Very good, sir.” The young man had recovered his composure, and walked through into the adjoining bath-room, after another quick glance at his master.