He saw the well-known, square, uncompromising mansion of his Uncle Belassis, and gave it a look of instinctive aversion, remembering dimly the unhappy hours he had spent there as a boy. He recognised with a smile the grey, ivycovered church which he had attended as a child, and could even recall the subjects of the stained windows which he had so admired, and recollect the half-fearful, half-delighted interest he and Maud used to take in a carved death’s head and cross-bones, which surmounted one of the tablets facing the pew in which they had sat. A great longing rose up within him to see again the little sister, who had been his playfellow and devoted slave in the far-away childhood’s years. Where was she now? Living still at Thornton House? Tor could not have brought her to Ladywell, he thought—odd as it might seem not to do so. He would have given much for one loving kiss from Maud, for one of the caresses he knew were his due; but he was a stranger and an alien, and could only come in disguise to see his own inheritance. Ladywell lay embosomed in woods, which now wore their full summer foliage. He could not see his own house, and yet the very thought that it was his own, thrilled him with a pride and delight he had not felt before. He remembered well the fine old place he had visited from time to time with his father. He could see, with his mind’s eye, the great terrace, the smooth lawns, and brilliant flowerbeds; the hot-houses and conservatories, and the fine stables where he had loved to wander, petting and admiring the horses who were stalled there. The inside of the house he remembered less vividly, but the idea of size and magnificence was strongly stamped upon his brain; and he heaved a sigh at the thought which rose in his mind, that his accession to his own property could only be obtained by the disgrace of the man who had once been his dearest, almost his only friend. ‘What’s that fine place?’ asked a fellow-traveller, of the driver, as the conveyance which had brought them both from Darwen drove up to the village. ‘Ladywell Manor, sir—finest place in the county.’ For the village people were loyal in their admiration of their own Manor House. ‘Who owns it?’ ‘Old Squire were Mr. Maynard—a queer old gentleman by all accounts, who never saw nobody. He never was married, and left the place to his nephew, Mr. Debenham. He’s main popular is the new Squire, though he’s not long come back from his travels; a pleasant-spoke, free-handed young gentleman as ever trod shoe-leather, and as strong and big as John the blacksmith, and he’s the biggest man down these parts.’ ‘Is he a married man?—the Squire, I mean, not the blacksmith.’