"Your affectionate friend,

"HERBERT PENFOLD."

It was characteristic of Mrs. Conway that at the first reading of this
letter she thought rather of the writer than of the bright prospects
which his offer opened to her son. She thought rather of Herbert
Penfold, her first love, now ill, if not dying, of the days of their
engagement and its rupture, than of the fact that her son was to
inherit half the Penfold estates. She had been sorely hurt at the
time; and even after all these years it was a pleasure to her to know
that the quarrel was not as she had often thought at the time, a mere
pretext for breaking off the engagement, but that Herbert had really
loved her, had cared for her all these years, and had been the
mysterious friend whose kindness had so lightened her cares.

"I did not throw away my love after all," she said to herself, as with
her eyes full of tears she stood at the window and looked out towards
the sea. "He cared for me enough to be faithful all this time and to
think of me constantly, while I had almost forgotten the past. I ought
to have known all the time that he was acting under the influence of
others--those sisters of his, of course. I was always certain they
hated me--hated the thought of my becoming mistress of Penfold Hall. I
knew the influence they had over him. Herbert had no will of his
own--it was the only fault I ever saw in him--and they could twist him
round their little fingers. And now he is going to make Ralph his
heir, or at least his heir with the girl he speaks of. It is a grand
thing for Ralph; for the estates were worth, he told papa, eight
thousand a year, and if Herbert's little romance comes off Ralph will
have all."