Sammy, however, appeared to have a different opinion, and chuckled indistinctly to himself, until he caught sight of Eustace, of whom he was very fond, and stretched out his arms with a merry crow. "Mr. Gartney,' said Lady Errington, flushing a rosy red at the disorder of her hair, just see what this scamp has done." "Young Turk!" said Eustace, taking the boy with a smile, while Alizon hastily twisted up her hair into a loose knot. "How are you, to-day, Lady Errington?" "Quite well, thank you," she replied quietly, as he sat down near her, with Sammy still on his knee. "I thought you were up in town?" "So I was. Came down last night," answered Gartney, while the baby made futile grabs at his watch chain. "Well, my prince, and how are you?" "He's never ill," said the young mother, with great pride. "I never saw such a healthy child. Not an illness since his birth." "Lucky Sammy! if his future life is only as pleasant as the first year of it, what a delightful time he will have." Lady Errington's face had grown very grave during this speech, as she had caught sight of the crape on his arm, and suddenly remembered why he had gone up to town. "You went to the funeral?" she asked, the colour flushing in her face. "Yes!" he replied, smoothing the child's fair curls with gentle hand. "I went to the funeral. Poor Aunt Jelly! I don't think she was sorry to die." Alizon made no reply, but sat perfectly still, looking steadily at him with a questioning look on her face. He knew what she so much desired to know, and broke the bad news to her as gently as he was able. "I heard the will read," he said awkwardly, reddening a little through the bronze of his complexion, "and she has left all her property to me." "To you?" "Believe me, I neither expected nor desired it," he cried hastily. "I have got plenty of money, without wishing more, and I thought she was going to leave it to Guy. I really thought she intended to do so." "My poor child!" That was all she said--not a thought, not a word of pity for her absent husband. All her sorrow was for the unconscious child playing on Gartney's knee. "I assure you," began Eustace, feeling like a robber, "that I----" "That you could not help it," she answered quietly. "I know that perfectly well. Who can be accountable for such things? But I am thinking of the future of my son. This property is deeply mortgaged, and most of the income goes to pay the interest. If Guy lived with me here we might save during the boy's minority, but he is far away spending the money that is to be his son's. I thought Aunt Jelly would have left the boy something, if she did not the father, and now he will be a pauper when he comes of age. This place will have to be sold, and my poor lad will never be Errington of the Hall--Oh, poor soul!--poor soul!"