CHAPTER II.

FRED NEVILLE.


When Fred Neville first came to the Manor, the old Earl trembled when
called upon to receive him. Of the lad he had heard almost nothing,--of
his appearance literally nothing. It might be that his heir would be
meanly visaged, a youth of whom he would have cause to be ashamed,
one from whose countenance no sign of high blood would shine out; or,
almost worse, he also might have that look, half of vanity, and half
of vice, of which the father had gradually become aware in his own
son, and which in him had degraded the Neville beauty. But Fred, to
look at, was a gallant fellow,--such a youth as women love to see
about a house,--well-made, active, quick, self-asserting, fair-haired,
blue-eyed, short-lipped, with small whiskers, thinking but little of his
own personal advantages, but thinking much of his own way. As far as the
appearance of the young man went the Earl could not but be satisfied.
And to him, at any rate in this, the beginning of their connexion, Fred
Neville was modest and submissive. "You are welcome to Scroope," said
the old man, receiving him with stately urbanity in the middle of the
hall. "I am so much obliged to you, uncle," he said. "You are come to
me as a son, my boy,--as a son. It will be your own fault if you are
not a son to us in everything." Then in lieu of further words there
shone a tear in each of the young man's eyes, much more eloquent to the
Earl than could have been any words. He put his arm over his nephew's