During the rest of my stay in that part of the country, I never
failed to urge my cousin to narrate the events which had brought
Coote-down to its present melancholy plight. But it was not till I
called to take leave of her, perhaps for ever, that she complied.
On that occasion, she placed in my hands a neatly-written manuscript
in her own handwriting, which she said contained all the particulars
I required. Circumstances have since occurred that render it not
indelicate in me to publish the narrative, which I do with but
little alteration.

In the middle of the last century the proprietor of Coote-down was
Charles James Hardman, to whom the estate lineally descended from a
long line of ancestors. He was from his youth a person of an easy
disposition, who minded very little, so that he could follow his
ordinary amusements, and could see everybody around him contented;
though his habits were too indolent to improve the condition of his
dependants by any efforts of his own. At the age of twenty-five, he
married the heiress of a baronet belonging to the northern side of
the county. She was a beauty and a belle--a lady full of
determination and spirit; consequently the very opposite to himself.
She was, moreover, two years his senior. As was predicted by those
who knew the couple intimately, the match was not productive of
happiness, and they had been married scarcely a year and a half when
they separated. It appeared that this unpleasant step was solely the
fault of the wife; and her father was so incensed at her rash
conduct, that he altered his will, and left the whole of his
property to Hardman. Meanwhile, it was given out that the lady had
brought her lord a son, and it was hoped that this event would prove
a means of reconciling the differences which existed between them.
Despite all entreaties, however, Mrs Hardman refused to return to