Blanche has seemed more fond than ever of Roland, and comparatively
deserts me to nestle close to him, and closer, till he looks up and
says, "My child, you are pale; go and run after the butterflies;" and
she says now to him, not to me, "Come too!" drawing him out into the
sunshine with a hand that will not loose its hold.

Of all Roland's line, this Herbert de Caxton was "the best and bravest!"
yet he had never named that ancestor to me,--never put any forefather in
comparison with the dubious and mythical Sir William. I now remembered
once that, in going over the pedigree, I had been struck by the name of
Herbert,--the only Herbert in the scroll,--and had asked, "What of him,
uncle?" and Roland had muttered something inaudible, and turned away.
And I remembered also that in Roland's room there was the mark on the
wall where a picture of that size had once hung. The picture had been
removed thence before we first came, but must have hung there for years
to have left that mark on the wall,--perhaps suspended by Bolt during
Roland's long Continental absence. "If ever I have a--" What were the
missing words? Alas! did they not relate to the son,--missed forever,
evidently not forgotten still?




CHAPTER IV.


My uncle sat on one side the fireplace, my mother on the other; and I,
at a small table between them, prepared to note down the results of
their conference; for they had met in high council, to assess their
joint fortunes,--determine what should be brought into the common stock