but not so clear to his weak-headed and prejudiced wife.  The father did, indeed, obtain her consent to take the boy over to England, and let him see his uncle and aunt, the Doughtys, at Upton, in Dorsetshire, and his uncle, Sir Henry, at the ancestral home down in Hampshire.  But Roger was then but a child, and as he grew older Mrs. Tichborne became more than ever resolute in her determination that, come what might, her darling should be a Frenchman.  What cared she for the old Hampshire traditions?  France was to her the only land worth living in; a Frenchman’s life was the only life worthy of the name.  Her dear Roger might succeed to the title and estates, but she could not bear the thought of his going to England.  It was in her imagination a land of cold bleak rains and unwholesome fogs.  But it was worse; it was the country of a people who had been false to their ancient faith.  Even the Tichbornes, though still Catholics, had not always been true to their religion.  And so Mrs. Tichborne planned out for the future heir of Tichborne a life of perpetual absenteeism.  He should marry into some distinguished family in France or Italy, and little short of a Princess should share his fortunes.  If he went into the army it should be in some foreign service.  But in no case should he go to Tichborne, or set foot in England again, if she could help it.

James Tichborne was like many other weak men who have self-willed wives.  He put off the inevitable day as long as he could, but finally achieved his purpose by strategy.  Roger was in his seventeenth year when the news arrived that Sir Henry had died.  It was right that James Tichborne should be present at his brother’s funeral, and reasonable that he should take with him the heir, as everyone regarded him to be.  Accordingly Roger took leave of his mother under solemn injunctions to return quickly.  But there was no intention of allowing him to return.  The boy attended the funeral of his uncle at the old chapel at Tichborne, went to his grandfather’s place at Knoyle, and thence, by the advice of relations and friends, and with the consent of the boy himself, he was taken down to the Jesuit College at Stonyhurst, and there placed in the seminary with the class of students known as “philosophers.”  When Mrs. Tichborne learnt that this step had been completed her fury knew no bounds.  Roger wrote her kind and filial letters in French—­ill-spelt it is true, but admirably worded, and testifying an amount of good sense which promised well for his manhood.  But Mrs. Tichborne gave no reply, and for twelve months the son, though longing ardently for a letter, got no token of affection.  Yet Mrs. Tichborne was not the person to see her son removed from her control without an effort.  She upbraided her husband violently, and there was a renewal of the old scenes in the Tichborne household; but Roger was now far away, and the danger of Mr. Tichborne’s yielding in a momentary fit of weakness was at an end.