with them I am. I have seldom seen a more distinctive specimen of
English scenery."

"And how you are improving round here!" said Claude, who knew Mark's
weak points, and wanted to draw him out. "Your homesteads seem all
new; three fields have been thrown into one, I fancy, over half the
farms."

Mark broke out at once on his favourite topic,--"I believe you! I'm
making the mare go here in Whitford, without the money too, sometimes.
I'm steward now, bailiff--ha! ha! these four years past--to Mrs.
Lavington's Irish husband; I wanted him to have a regular agent, a
canny Scot, or Yorkshireman. Faith, the poor man couldn't afford it,
and so fell back on old Mark. Paddy loves a job, you know. So I've the
votes and the fishing, and send him his rents, and manage all the rest
pretty much, my own way."

When the name of Lavington was mentioned, Mark observed Stangrave
start; and an expression passed over his face difficult to be
defined--it seemed to Mark mingled pride and shame. He turned to
Claude, and said, in a low voice, but loud enough for Mark to hear,--

"Lavington? Is this their country also? As I am going to visit the
graves of my ancestors, I suppose I ought to visit those of hers."

Mark caught the words which he was not intended to.

"Eh? Sir, do you belong to these parts?"

"My family, I believe, lived in the neighbourhood of Whitbury, at a