Old Canham leaned heavily on his crutch, lost in thought. "It won't drop for ever, sir," he presently raised his head to say. "There have been something within me a long, long while, whispering that Master Rupert's as safe to come to his own before he dies, as that I be to go into my grave. When this stir took place, following on your arrival here, I thought the time had come then. It seems it hadn't; but come it _will_, as sure as I be saying it--as sure as he's the true heir of Squire Trevlyn." "I hope it will," was the warm answer. "You will none of you rejoice more truly than I. My friend Freeman has promised to write occasionally to me, and----" Mr. Daw was interrupted. Riding his shaggy pony in at the lodge gate--a strong, brisk little Welsh animal bought a week ago by Miss Diana, was Rupert himself. Upon how slender a thread do the great events of life turn! The reflection is so trite that it seems the most unnecessary reiteration to record it; but there are times when it is brought to the mind with an intensity that is positively startling. Mr. Chattaway, by the merest accident--as it appeared to him--had forgotten a letter that morning when he went to Blackstone. He had written it before leaving home, intending to post it on his road, but left it on his desk. It was drawing towards the close of the afternoon before he remembered it. He then ordered Rupert to ride home as fast as possible and post it, so that it might be in time for the evening mail. And this Rupert had now come to do. All very simple, you will say: but I can tell you that but for the return of Rupert Trevlyn at that hour, the most tragical part of this history would in all probability never have taken place. "The very man I was wishing to see!" exclaimed Mr. Daw, arresting Rupert and his pony in their career. "I feared I should have to leave without wishing you good-bye." "Are you going to-day?" asked Rupert. "To-night. You seem in a hurry." "I am in a hurry," replied Rupert, as he explained about the letter. "If I don't make haste, I shall lose the post." "But I want to talk to you a bit. Do you go back to Blackstone?" "Oh no; not to-day." "Suppose you come in to the parsonage for an hour or two this evening?" suggested Mr. Daw. "Come to tea. I am sure they'll be glad to see you." "All right; I'll come," cried Rupert, cantering off. But a few minutes, and he cantered down again, letter in hand. Old Canham was alone then. Rupert looked towards him, and nodded as he went past. There was a receiving-house for letters at a solitary general shop, not far beyond Trevlyn Farm, and to this Rupert went, posted the letter, and returned to Trevlyn Hold. Sending his pony to the stable, he began to get ready for his visit to Mr. Freeman's--a most ill-fated visit, as it was to turn out.