injunctions, which included the removal of his mother and his imbecile brother Zeke to the farm-house, where repairs and renovations, under Tom's watchful eye and helping hand, were immediately commenced and therefore went on briskly. A yet later communication had brought to Tom the gratifying intelligence that his friend was a father as well as a husband, and that, though this circumstance had delayed his intended return, it had only confirmed that intention. Further remittances also reached Tom Carey from a mercantile house in London, with directions that they were to be employed in preparing and fitting up two or three rooms in the farm-house for the residence of Harry and his wife, with their infant daughter and an old nurse.

It may be added that these letters from Rivers in both instances reached Tom through the medium of the ladies at the Priory, and that the consequence was a pretty constant intercourse, and very numerous consultations, between Melly and Prissy and their nephew's factotum, which consultations finally issued in a scheme of affectionate guile, woven in the brains of the two maiden ladies, to set aside their nephew's intentions of making the old farm-house his home.

It was not to be thought of, they said, that the rightful owner of the Priory should be kept out of the inheritance, which they had already usurped too long. While the fate of their brother was uncertain, and he might, for anything they knew, return to claim his own, they were bound to keep all things right about the Priory, and to hold possession of the estate as his faithful stewards. But now, what had they more to do at the Priory? and was it reasonable that their brother's natural heirs should have to seek a refuge in a gusty old house like that of Leanacres?

The upshot of all this reasoning was, that Melly and Prissy would remain at the Priory only until Harry's return, when they would become his tenants for the farm-house and farm, which

would do well enough for them, with Tom Carey to undertake the cultivation of the land, and William Crickett and servingmaids to give them due attendance, as they had done at the Priory. For this their annuities would amply suffice; and it would be hard if the farm, such as it was, could not pay its own rent. As for Tom Carey, his mother, and his imbecile brother, there was a cottage on the farm, which might be put into comfortable repair, and would very well serve for their residence.

Justly surmising, however, that Harry would not willingly consent to this plan, his simple-minded relatives determined to forestall his objections by taking the initiative. Accordingly, they removed the greater part of their own personal property to the farm, and required their servants to do the same; then they quietly sat themselves down in their old home, to await the arrival of their nephew, who, at all events, would visit the Priory with his wife and child before taking possession of his house of Leanacres.

It may be supposed that Tom Carey looked upon these infractions of his employer's orders with some degree of perplexity and doubt, and was only reconciled to them by the assurance of Melly, whom he regarded with much reverence, that they were absolutely essential to her nephew's interest. After this his objections ceased.

It was when these arrangements were completed, and the ladies of the Priory were serenely contemplating the approaching change in their position, that they received an unexpected visit from Mr. Peter Wainfleet, the London lawyer, who, claiming the privilege of an old friend, announced his intention of taking up his night's abode in the customary guest-chamber, to which in due course, and after a lengthened conversation with Melly and Prissy, he was ceremoniously conducted by Mr. Crickett.

CHAPTER XLIX.

AT BREAKFAST.

THE time of year was September, the time of day nine in the morning; the place was the old-fashioned parlour of Hurlock Priory; the persons present were Melly and Prissy Fleming, with Mr. Wainfleet, who had just entered with bustling haste, and taken his seat at the well-appointed breakfast-table.

Not much alteration had taken place in either of these good people in the few years last past. A very inquisitive observer might have detected a somewhat deeper indentation of those peculiar marks popularly called crow's-feet on the countenance of the busy man of the world, together with a little more superfluity of flesh and rotundity of corporeal substance, than of yore. But there was the same merry twinkle of the eyelids, and the everready quip, half serious and half playful, which marked his intercourse with his friends in former years.

And Melly and Prissy? Well, they had borne meekly what was laid upon them to bear; and one day had been so like the day before and the day after, that the current of their lives had not been much disturbed. Gradually and insensibly, however, they had fallen a little more into the rear of the world and worldly society. Their manners and their dress would have appeared slightly more antiquated; and their opinions, when expressed, were strongly in favour of the good old times, which never are (and never were) to be put into comparison with modern degeneracy.

"I have kept you waiting, Miss Fleming," said the gentleman, apologetically, as he chipped an egg. "I beg your pardon for

my want of politeness. There, scold me if you like, Miss Prissy: I will be very penitent. It is not my fault, though, that I slept two hours beyond my usual time for rising: I did not get forty winks before cock-crow."

"I am sorry you rested ill, sir," said Miss Fleming, gravely.

"Oh, there's nothing in that; never do sleep well in the country: the unwonted quiet-there's something awful in it. Thanks to Mr. Crickett, however, I dropped off at last into a deep slumber."

"How was that, Mr. Wainfleet?" asked Prissy.

"It is scarcely worth mentioning; but, about the time I spoke of, the gentleman began most melodiously to snore. It was a perfect tempest, I assure you, Miss Prissy; but it answered my purpose." "You speak by contraries, I am afraid, sir," rejoined Melly; and I ought to apologise for placing you so near so great an annoyance. But you knowknow--"

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"That you made a very ridiculous vow, thirty years ago, that no man should ever sleep beneath the roof of the Priory proper till its rightful owner came to claim it," interposed the lawyer, laughing.

"And now that time is come

“Ay, the time, but not the man," said the lawyer, sententiously. "It was not God's will that we should ever see our poor brother Vincent again," said Melly, softly, and a tear trickled down her cheek.

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Well, well, he sent you his love, you know; and he made a most comfortable ending, according to our friend Harry's account; so it was all right, after all," said Mr. Wainfleet, consolingly. "And you really are serious about this romantic scheme of yours, my dear ladies, of taking flight from this old nest which has so long sheltered you?"

"I do not know why you should call it romantic, Mr. Wainfleet," interposed Prissy.

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Oh, you do not like things to be called by their right names! Now, with me, a spade is a spade."

"It does not matter what Mr. Wainfleet calls it, my dear," said Melly.

"Not a bit, Miss Fleming. But about this-a-hem - this unromantic plan. Do you really suppose that Harry Rivers will submit to it?"

"When he knows that he will make us unhappy if he does not submit to it, and that we have set our minds on turning farmers in our old days, and have taken possession of his house at Leanacres, and have sent all our personal effects there, he will scarcely have the heart to thwart us.”

The lawyer gave a dissatisfied growl. "Pretty sort of farmer you will make, Miss Fleming; and you, who have never touched a cow in all your life, not even with a long pole, Miss Prissy, a pretty milk-maid you would make!"

"If you choose to make game of us, sir, you are very welcome," replied Prissy, with an assumption of dignity: "there's nothing in the world that cannot be made to appear ridiculous."

"If one only knows how to set about it, eh? But come, my dear lady, you know your old friend too well to suppose that he wants to make game of you; only there seem to be some difficulties in the way of your Quixotic-I beg pardon-your benevolent scheme. Suppose, for instance, that Harry Rivers should not consent to the exchange, and should refuse, pointblank, to receive you as tenants of his starveling acres yonder ?"

"He will scarcely turn us out when

"When he finds you have stolen a march upon him, you would say. But don't make too sure of that: Harry Rivers has, as I suspect, some of the confirmed obstinacy of his race, and likes to have a will of his own.'

"We must run the risk of that, sir: we can