This year the effort to keep Christmas in Seat-Sandal was a failure.  Julius did not return in time for the festival, and the squire was unable to take any part in it.  There had been one of those sudden, mysterious changes in his condition, marking a point in life from which every step is on the down-hill road to the grave.  One day he had seemed even better than usual; the next morning he looked many years older.  Lassitude of body and mind had seized the once eager, sympathetic man; he was weary of the struggle for life, and had given up.  This change occurred just before Christmas; and Charlotte could not help feeling that the evergreens for the feast might, after all, be the evergreens for the funeral.

One snowy day between Christmas and New Year, Julius came home.  Before he said a word to Sophia, she divined that he had succeeded in his object.  He entered the house with the air of a master; and, when he heard how rapidly the squire was failing, he congratulated himself on his prudent alacrity in the matter.  The next morning he was permitted an interview.  “You have been a long time away, Julius,” said the squire languidly, and without apparent interest in the subject.

“I have been a long journey.”

“Ah!  Where have you been?  Eh?”

“To Italy.”

The sick man flushed crimson, and his large, thin hands quivered slightly.  Julius noted the change in him with some alarm; for, though it was not perhaps actually necessary to have the squire’s signature to Harry’s relinquishment, it would be more satisfactory to obtain it.  He knew that neither Mrs. Sandal nor Charlotte would dispute Harry’s deed; but he wished not only to possess Seat-Sandal, but also the good-will of the neighborhood, and for this purpose he must show a clear, clean right to the succession.  He had explained the matter to Sophia, and been annoyed at her want of enthusiasm.  She feared that any discussion relating to Harry might seriously excite and injure her father, and she could not bring herself to advise it.  But the disapproval only made Julius more determined to carry out his own views; and therefore, when the squire asked, “Where have you been?” he told him the truth; and oh, how cruel the truth can sometimes be!

“I have been to Italy.”

“To see”—­

“Harry?  Yes.”

Then, without waiting to inform himself as to whether the squire wished the conversation dropped or continued, he added, “He was in a miserable condition,—­destitute, with a dying wife and child.”

“Child!  Eh?  What?”

“Yes, a son; a little chap, nothing but skin and bone and black eyes,—­an Italian Sandal.”

The squire was silent a few minutes; then he asked in a slow, constrained voice, “What did you do?”

“Harry sent for me in order that we might discuss a certain proposal he wished to make me.  I have accepted it—­reluctantly accepted it; but really it appeared the only way to help him to any purpose.”