Therein I found myself directed to spend the years intervening before my coming of age at a tiny estate in northern Italy. He had purchased it several months before his death, and having such use for it in view, had furnished the house comfortably and revived the faded glories of the library. Bound by a solemn command I was to live retired from the world, and not to present myself at Furnivaux whilst Lady Barbara Verelst lived. The manuscript concluded mystically: ‘I have known that in your youth she will cross your path; an unscrupulous woman who cares for nought so long as her heart’s desire is fulfilled. The stars declare it. Perhaps, even as I write, she may be weaving the fatal web that is to destroy life and happiness. But the line of Fate runs on straightway. I cannot tell (for the evil destiny may overpower you) what to advise, but let justice and love ever sway you, and remember that earth’s joy is nought in comparison with that which follows. Beware, Ralph, of her I write of, wherever she be.’ Overpowered with grief, my first impulse was a petulant and unreasonable fury against those with whom I had passed that delicious summer morning. So angry was I with the cause of my disobedience that I did not even write to Lady Barbara, and after my father’s funeral I started at once for the home he had chosen. Here I passed seven years of irresolute work. The management of the estate was entirely in my own hands, and I worked in a desultory fashion amongst my people, earning their affection, and being as happy as any man who has no aim in life. I had always my ideals and my recollections to think of, and I never felt a desire for stronger interests. At last came a time when all this ceased, and I became terribly depressed. Who can trust presentiments? I have had so many--so many true and so many false, that I have alternately believed and disbelieved in the supernatural powers in which foolish people place such absolute trust. We spend many hours in mourning over catastrophies that never occur, whilst at the time that the greatest possible disasters are affecting our fortunes, we are plunged into the lightest ecstasy. Yet I must confess that, when I received word from the Verelst’s lawyer that on the opening of my great-aunt’s will he had discovered a new codicil by which I was compelled to marry either Rachel or Mary, or to suffer the estates to pass entirely from our branch of the family, a long vista of ills opened before me, and I complained bitterly, because of the craftiness and self-will of the old woman, who would not believe that ought but worldly interest was necessary for marriage.