"That's the right way to put it," quoth the credulous squire; "it is
unnatural! It is turning one's back on one's own mother. The land is a
mother--"

"To those who live by her, certainly,--a mother," said Randal, gravely.
"And though, indeed, my father starves by her rather than lives, and Rood
Hall is not like Hazeldean, still--I--"

"Hold your tongue," interrupted the squire; "I want to talk to you. Your
grandmother was a Hazeldean."

"Her picture is in the drawing-room at Rood. People think me very like
her."

"Indeed!" said the squire. "The Hazeldeans are generally inclined to be
stout and rosy, which you are certainly not. But no fault of yours. We
are all as Heaven made us. However, to the point. I am going to alter
my will,"--(said with a choking gulp). "This is the rough draft for the
lawyers to work upon."

"Pray, pray, sir, do not speak to me on such a subject. I cannot bear to
contemplate even the possibility of--of--"

"My death? Ha, ha! Nonsense. My own son calculated on the date of it
by the insurance-tables. Ha, ha, ha! A very fashionable son, eh! Ha,
ha!"

"Poor Frank! do not let him suffer for a momentary forgetfulness of
right feeling. When he comes to be married to that foreign lady, and be