She was all that was left to him of his own blood to care for and to love. His wife had died several years before in India, where he was employed by the government. His parents had both died during his youth, and brother or sister he never had. Neither had he an uncle or an own cousin. An aunt by marriage he possibly may have had, but were she living she could be nothing to him. Thomas Brandon, Earl of Allerdale, had reached the age of sixty-four, a hale hearty old man, seemingly as strong and vigorous as ever. He was a handsome man, tall and strong, with a full, broad chest; his limbs shapely and muscular, with a step as firm and light as that of youth. He had a grand head, covered with snow-white hair, and a strongly marked face that retained much--very much--of its old-time beauty, for Tom Brandon, when he had been simple Lord Oakleigh, had been accounted one of the handsomest men of his time. The earl was but little better off in the way of kindred than was his guest. He had a son and a grandson, and that completed the list. His wife had died while he was still young, leaving him with one child, and he had never married again. His son George, Lord Oakleigh, was absent in India. From him Sir William had come when he first appeared at the castle. George Brandon and William Chester were very nearly of the same age. The former was forty-six, the later one year younger. They had been friendly in youth, had been classmates at college, and had been much together in after life. In India they had been like brothers, a common misfortune, or calamity, having cemented the bonds of their union more firmly and more closely than ever before. It was the death of their wives. They had resided beneath the same roof in Calcutta. There Lady Chester had been taken down with fever, and Lady Brandon had helped to nurse her. Suffice it to say, both had the fever, and both died. Sir William was left with his little Cordelia, then only ten; Lord Oakleigh being left with a son three years older. A few months after the sad bereavement Lord Oakleigh sent his son Matthew home to England, to the care of his father, the earl having written out an earnest request that it should be so done. The boy had arrived safely, and from that time had been his grandfather’s charge. Little more than a year later Sir William had begun to feel that his failing health betokened something serious. He was convinced that he should never recover in India. He considered a perfect recovery impossible; but, were he to seek his native land, he might gain a few more years of life. So, towards the close of the year, he had made his arrangements for returning home. Said Lord Oakleigh, after the thing had been settled, and the baronet had packed up: