as she thought of the poor lad yonder, sitting friendless and lonely on
the outside of his ancestors' door; not because she was specially angry
with her relatives, who she knew would act precisely as they had done.

The exhibition of their selfishness and humiliation alike amused her, as
did Castlewood's act of revolt. He was as selfish as the rest of the
family, but not so mean; and, as he candidly stated, he could afford the
luxury of a little independence, having tolerable estate to fall back
upon.

Madam Bernstein was an early woman, restless, resolute, extraordinarily
active for her age. She was up long before the languid Castlewood ladies
(just home from their London routs and balls) had quitted their
feather-beds, or jolly Will had slept off his various potations of punch.
She was up, and pacing the green terraces that sparkled with the sweet
morning dew, which lay twinkling, also, on a flowery wilderness of trim
parterres, and on the crisp walls of the dark box hedges, under which
marble fauns and dryads were cooling themselves, whilst a thousand birds
sang, the fountains plashed and glittered in the rosy morning sunshine,
and the rooks cawed from the great wood.

Had the well-remembered scene (for she had visited it often in childhood)
a freshness and charm for her? Did it recall days of innocence and
happiness, and did its calm beauty soothe or please, or awaken remorse in
her heart? Her manner was more than ordinarily affectionate and gentle,
when, presently, after pacing the walks for a half-hour, the person for
whom she was waiting came to her. This was our young Virginian, to whom
she had despatched an early billet by one of the Lockwoods. The note was
signed B. Bernstein, and informed Mr. Esmond Warrington that his
relatives at Castlewood, and among them a dear friend of his grandfather,