to think mournfully of the probability that the old manor-house must go to
a stranger unless he could humble himself to the son who had defied him.
But, old as he was, he had outlived his son, and he was dismayed at his
isolation. A whole generation was dead and gone, and the two lads, who were
all that remained of the Thornes of Brackenhill, stood far away, as though
he stretched his trembling hands to them across their fathers' graves. He
expressly requested that Percival should come and see him, and the young
man presented himself in his deep mourning. Sissy, just sixteen, looked
upon him as a sombre hero of romance, and within two days of his coming
Mrs. Middleton announced that her brother was "perfectly infatuated about
that boy."

The evening of his arrival he stood with his grandfather on the terrace
looking at the wide prospect which lay at their feet--ample fields and
meadows, and the silvery flash of water through the willows. Then he
turned, folded his arms and coolly surveyed Brackenhill itself from end to
end. Mr. Thorne watched him, expecting some word, but when none came, and
Percival's eyes wandered upward to the soft evening sky, where a glimmering
star hung like a lamp above the old gray manor-house, he said, with some
amusement, "Well, and what is your opinion?"

Percival came down to earth with the greatest promptitude: "It's a
beautiful place. I'm glad to see it. I like looking over old houses."

"Like looking over old houses? As if it were merely a show! Isn't
Brackenhill more to you than any other old house?" demanded Mr. Thorne.

"Oh, well, perhaps," Percival allowed: "I have heard my father talk of it
of course."