But on the whole, the hope which Stephen had given him of the squire’s final recovery was a too flattering one.  There was, perhaps, no immediate danger of death, but there was still less prospect of entire recovery.  He had begun to remember a little, to speak a word or two, to use his hands in the weak, uncertain way of a young child; but in the main he lay like a giant, bound by invisible and invincible bonds; speechless, motionless, seeking through his large, pathetic eyes the help and comfort of those who bent over him.  He had quite lost the fine, firm contour of his face, his ruddy color was all gone; indeed, the country expression of “face of clay,” best of all words described the colorless, still countenance amid the white pillows in the darkened room.

As the spring came on he gained strength and intelligence, and one lovely day his men lifted him to a couch by the window.  The lattices were flung wide open, that he might see the trees tossing about their young leaves, and the grass like grass in paradise, and hear the bees humming among the apple-blooms, and the sheep bleating on the fells.  The earth was full of the beauty and the tranquillity of God.  The squire looked long at the familiar sights; looked till his lips trembled, and the tears rolled heavily down his gray face.  And then he realized all that he had suffered, he remembered the hand that had dealt him the blow.  And while Mrs. Sandal was kissing away his tears, and speaking words of hope and love, a letter came from Sophia.

It was dated Calcutta.  Julius had taken her there in the winter, and the news of her father’s illness did not reach her for some weeks.  But, as it happened, when Charlotte’s letter detailing the sad event arrived, Julius was particularly in need of something to wonder over and to speculate about; and of all subjects, Seat-Sandal interested him most.  To be master of the fine old place was his supreme ambition.  He felt that he possessed all the qualities necessary to make him a leader among the Dales gentlemen.  He foresaw, through them, social influence and political power; and he had an ambition to make his reign in the house of Sandal the era of a new and far more splendid dynasty.

He had been lying in the shade, drinking iced coffee, and smoking.  But as Sophia read, he sat upright, and a look of speculation came into his eyes.  “There is no use weeping, my love,” he said languidly, “you will only dim your beauty, and that will do neither your father nor me any good.  Let us go to Sandal.  Charlotte and mother must be worn out, and we can be useful at such a time.  I think, indeed, our proper place is there.  The affairs of the ‘walks’ and the farms must be attended to, and what will they do on quarter-day?  Of course Harry will not remain there.  It would be unkind, wrong, and in exceedingly bad taste.”

“Poor, dear father!  And oh, Julius, what a disgrace to the family!  A singer!  How could Harry behave so shamefully to us all?”