which the grain had been reaped, and on the beautiful woods glowing with
the varied tints of autumn. A fly was making its way to Leet Hall, and
its occupant, looking out of it on this side and that, in a fever of
ecstasy, for the country scene charmed her, thought how favoured was the
lot of those who could live out their lives amidst its surroundings.

In the drawing-room at the Hall, watching the approach of this same fly,
stood Mrs. Hamlyn, a frown upon her haughty face. Philip Hamlyn was
still detained in the West Indies, and since her reconciliation to her
father, she would go over with her baby-boy to the Hall and remain there
for days together. Captain Monk liked to have her, and he took more
notice of the baby than he had ever taken of baby yet. For when Kate was
an infant he had at first shunned her, because she had cost Katherine
her life. This baby, little Walter, was a particularly forward child,
strong and upright, walked at ten months old, and much resembled his
mother in feature. In temper also. The young one would stand sturdily in
his little blue shoes and defy his grandpapa already, and assert his own
will, to the amused admiration of Captain Monk.

Eliza, utterly wrapt in her child, saw her father's growing love for him
with secret delight; and one day when he had the boy on his knee, she
ventured to speak out a thought that was often in her heart.

"Papa," she said, with impassioned fervour, "_he_ ought to be the heir,
your own grandson; not Harry Carradyne."

Captain Monk simply stared in answer.

"He lies in the _direct_ succession; he has your own blood in his veins.
Papa, you ought to see it."