The journey to Yorkshire took two days, travelling by post being so much slower than by railway. To Ernest they were days of almost unmixed delight: change of scene, unaccustomed comforts, the society of those whom he loved, all the hopes which naturally gild the prospect of youth—all the brighter for being so new—filled his cup of enjoyment very full. Though his manner was not so lively as that of his brother, it was easy to see that his happiness was not less. We may be surprised that the bitter emotions which Charles had entertained when he first knew of the loss of his title seemed so soon to have entirely disappeared. But his was an open and generous heart—Ernest’s sufferings had roused his pity—his brother’s grateful affection had flattered his feelings—he was pleased with himself for his conquest over pride; and perhaps nothing tends to make us more cheerful than this. Then there had been nothing to make him painfully aware of a change—his tutor’s manner had been more kind than ever—Jones could never address him but as “my lord”—Ernest seemed unwilling to consider himself even as his equal—all his comforts appeared the same as ever. It was therefore with unaffected pleasure that, as they approached near the Castle Fontonore, Charles pointed out the landmarks to his brother. “There now, there’s the lodge; isn’t it a beauty? That’s Widow Grove who is standing at the gate. Why, there’s quite a little crowd; I knew that there would be one. Take off your cap, Ernest, they are cheering for us. Did you ever see such magnificent timber in your life? so glorious with the autumn tints still upon them! That tree to the right is five hundred years old. Just look at the deer as they bound through that glade; and now—yes—now you have a glimpse of the castle, and there’s the flag waving from the top of the tower. Is it not an inheritance worth having, Ernest? Does it not surpass your expectations?” “It does, it does; I never saw, never dreamed of anything so beautiful!”