Not a common name, and not a name which seemed to be altogether
unknown to her. Had she heard her father mention it at home in
the time of her early childhood? There were no associations with
it that she could now call to mind.

She read the letter. It addressed her father familiarly as "My
dear Roderick," and it proceeded in these words:--



"The delay in the sailing of your ship offers me an opportunity
of writing to you again. My last letter told you of my father's
death. I was then quite unprepared for an event which has
happened, since that affliction befell me. Prepare yourself to be
surprised. Our old moated house at Sandyseal, in which we have
spent so many happy holidays when we were schoolfellows, is sold.

"You will be almost as sorry as I was to hear this; and you will
be quite as surprised as I was, when I tell you that Sandyseal
Place has become a Priory of English Nuns, of the order of St.
Benedict.

"I think I see you look up from my letter, with your big black
eyes staring straight before you, and say and swear that this
must be one of my mystifications. Unfortunately (for I am fond of
the old house in which I was born) it is only too true. The
instructions in my father's will, under which Sandyseal has been
sold, are peremptory. They are the result of a promise made, many
years since, to his wife.