“‘That was not all, my child. Listen. While I was still in the archipelago, late in October, I received a batch of letters from England, all bringing me good news of my son and daughter. There was one from you, telling me of your fully restored health and good spirits, and your desire to spend the winter at Brighton. Another from Miss Murray, giving a very flattering account of your progress in education. A third was from Madame de la Champe, much to the same effect.’ “‘Those letters were written only three days before my hasty marriage, and, oh! believe me, papa, because I even dreamed of taking such a hasty step,’ I earnestly declared. ‘I do believe you, my child. You shall explain later. The same mail brought me a long letter from your brother, who had gone to Eton. He told me of his long summer vacation spent with you at Brighton. And he corroborated the intelligence given by yourself and your governess as to your health, good spirits and rapid progress. He also asked leave to spend the Christmas holidays with you at Brighton. “Here I sighed so heavily that my father stopped, and laid his hand on mine in sympathy, while he resumed: “‘All these letters gave me great satisfaction, on account of my dear children. They were especially comforting to me at that time, as I was about to leave the archipelago for the Canaries. I did not notice then that Glennon had omitted to say one word about his own health, which was always delicate, he having inherited the constitution of his mother.’ “‘He looked well when he left Brighton,’ I ventured to say. “‘Yes; but he did not continue well after resuming his studies. The same mail that brought me his letter brought one from one of the physicians at Eton. I had overlooked all my other correspondence in dwelling upon the letters from my children; but at length I took up one in a strange handwriting which, on opening, proved to be from the physician who had been attending my son for some seemingly slight disorder in his health. This Dr. Fletcher wrote to me to say that the state of my son’s health was such that Glennon should leave Eton and have a thorough change of air, scene and diet. He suggested that he should have a traveling tutor, and go to a warmer and drier climate.’ “‘I had heard that he went with you to the Canaries,’ I said. “‘Yes,’ continued my father, ‘I quickly made up my mind in regard to Glennon. I wrote to my two old friends, Dr. Alexander and the Rev. Mr. Clement, asking them if they could procure substitutes to fill their places at Weirdwaste, and accompany us to the Canaries for the winter—the one to take charge of the young viscount’s health, and the other to direct his studies in a very moderate manner.’ “‘I heard, too, that the doctor and the vicar joined your party,’ I said.