“Never call me by any other name,” the aged nobleman interposed. He gazed for a few seconds into the pale, wan face upon the pillow, tears starting from his eyes while he did so; and then resumed: “William, my son, I know not why it is, but it is a fact nevertheless, a fact that you have won a place in my heart close by the side of my own noble boy. Ah! you know I may call him noble.” “I never knew a nobler man,” the baronet responded quickly. “Bless you!” the earl went on, two big tears starting down his ruddy cheeks as he spoke. “I was saying that I could not understand it. I cannot quite understand the way and manner in which my heart has gone out to you. It is not that I love you. No, no. I could not have helped doing that had I tried. No; the mystery is this. In losing you or in contemplating your loss, I feel as though I were losing my all of life. Little Cordelia will be my only love.” “My lord! Do you forget your son?” The old man shook his head with dubious look and motion, while a shadow that told of pain rested on his face. “No,” he answered, “I think of him continually.” He paused a moment, and then abruptly asked: “William, are you inclined to laugh at presentiments?” “No, my lord, far from it. I have had presentiments of my own that were later fulfilled to the letter.” “Chester, you speak of my son. It is a presentiment I have in relation to him that has drawn my heart so closely to yourself. Something tells me I shall see him never again on earth. It is not the result of a dream; it is not a weird fancy; it has come to me like a revelation, and I cannot put it away. But let it pass. I will not darken your last hours of life with my gloomsome forebodings. Had you not another request to make of me in relation to your child?” The baronet had evidently thought to combat the unhappy presentiment of his old friend, but when that friend had himself proposed that the subject be dropped he had no desire to reopen it. To the last question he replied, after a little reflection: “Yes, my lord, there is one other subject upon which I wish to speak. I believe my worldly affairs--affairs of property--are all settled. My agent at Leyburn will account to you annually in the matter of rents. The amount will be from £15,000 to £18,000 a year. Something must be allowed for repairs and improvements. That agent, I think, is strictly honest; yet it may be well for you to have an eye on the estate for yourself. The distance is not great. You can go and return, with plenty of time for business, in two days, with only one night away from your home. “My bank account will give you £10,000 more, as it now stands. Of course you will be adding to it from the returns of the agent. Thus you will see, I shall leave behind for my child an annual income of at least £25,000.” “And you would request me to look after this?” broke in the earl, with a surprise which he did not attempt to hide. “My dear Sir William, do you suppose--”