It was not yet nine o’clock when Valentine entered the dining-room in his brother’s house.

The gloom was over, the sun had burst forth, lumps of snow, shining in the dazzle of early sunlight, were falling with a dull thud from the trees, while every smaller particle dislodged by a waft of air, dropped with a flash as of a diamond.

First Mrs. Henfrey came in and looked surprised to see Valentine; wondered he had left John; had never seen a man so overcome at his father’s funeral.  Then Giles came in with some purple and some orange crocuses, which he laid upon his wife’s plate.  He said nothing about his note, but went and fetched Dorothea, who was also evidently surprised to see Valentine.

How lovely and interesting she looked in his eyes that morning, so serene herself, and an object of such watchful solicitude both to her husband and his old step-sister!

“Any man may feel interested in her now,” thought Valentine, excusing himself to himself for the glow of admiring tenderness that filled his heart.  “Sweet thing!  Oh! what a fool I have been!”

There was little conversation; the ladies were in mourning, and merely asked a few questions as to the arrangements of the late relative’s affairs.  Brandon sat at the head of the table, and his wife at his right hand.  There was something very cordial in his manner, but such an evident turning away from any mention of having sent for him, that Valentine, perceiving the matter to be private, followed his lead, and when breakfast was over went with him up-stairs to his long room; at the top of the house, his library and workshop.

“Now, then,” he exclaimed, when at last the door was shut and they were alone, “I suppose I may speak?  What can it be, old fellow, that induced you to send for me at a time so peculiarly inconvenient to John?”

“It was partly something that I read in a newspaper,” answered Giles, “and also—­also a letter.  A letter that was left in my care by your father.”

“Oh! then you were to give it to me after my uncle’s death, were you?”

For all answer Giles said, “There it is,” and Valentine, following his eyes, saw a sealed parcel, not unlike in shape and size to the one he had already opened that morning.  It was lying on a small, opened desk.  “Take your time, my dear fellow,” said Giles, “and read it carefully.  I shall come up again soon, and tell you how it came into my possession.”

Thereupon he left the room, and Valentine, very much surprised, advanced to the table.

The packet was not directed to any person, but outside it was written in Brandon’s clear hand, “Read by me on the 3rd of July, 18—­, and sealed up the following morning.  G.B.”

Valentine sat down before it, broke his brother’s seal, and took out a large letter, the seal of which (his father’s) had already been broken.  It was addressed, in his father’s handwriting, “Giles Brandon, Esq., Wigfield House.”