Spring was to bring its events; but first of all it must be said that during the winter little Walter Hamlyn was taken ill at Leet Hall when staying there with his mother.  The malady turned out to be gastric fever, and Mr. Speck was in constant attendance.  For the few days that the child lay in danger, Eliza was almost wild.  The progress to convalescence was very slow, lasting many weeks; and during that time Captain Monk, being much with the little fellow, grew to be fond of him with an unreasonable affection.

“I’m not sure but I shall leave Leet Hall to him,” he suddenly observed to Eliza one day, not observing that Harry Carradyne was standing in the recess of the window.  “Halloa! are you there, Harry?  Well, it can’t be helped.  You heard what I said?”

“I heard, Uncle Godfrey:  but I did not understand.”

“Eliza thinks Leet Hall ought to go in the direct line—­through her—­to this child.  What should you say to that?”

“What could he say to it?” imperiously demanded Eliza.  “He is only your nephew.”

Harry looked from one to the other in a sort of bewildered surprise:  and there came a silence.

“Uncle Godfrey,” he said, starting out of a reverie, “you have been good enough to make me your heir.  It was unexpected on my part, unsolicited; but you did do it, and you caused me to leave the army in consequence, to give up my fair prospects in life.  I am aware that this deed is not irrevocable, and certainly you have the right to do what you will with your own property.  But you must forgive me for saying that you should have made quite sure of your intentions beforehand:  before picking me up, if it be only to throw me down again.”

“There, there, we’ll leave it,” retorted Captain Monk testily.  “No harm’s done to you yet, Mr. Harry; I don’t know that it will be.”

But Harry Carradyne felt sure that it would be; that he should be despoiled of the inheritance.  The resolute look of power on Eliza’s face, bent on him as he quitted the chamber, was an earnest of that.  Captain Monk was not the determined man he had once been; that was over.

“A pretty kettle of fish, this is,” ruefully soliloquised Harry, as he marched along the corridor.  “Eliza’s safe to get her will; no doubt of that.  And I? what am I to do?  I can’t repurchase and go back amongst them again like a returned shilling; at least, I won’t; and I can’t turn Parson, or Queen’s Counsel, or Cabinet Minister.  I’m fitted for nothing now, that I see, but to be a gentleman-at-large; and what would the gentleman’s income be?”

Standing at the corridor window, softly whistling, he ran over ways and means in his mind.  He had a pretty house of his own, Peacock’s Range, formerly his father’s, and about four hundred a-year.  After his mother’s death it would not be less than a thousand a-year.

“That means bread and cheese at present.  Later—­Heyday, young lady, what’s the matter?”