He had scarcely read half the first page when she saw his countenance change a little, then flush. He folded the letter, laid it down by the side of his plate, and began to eat again, with a fixed expression on his face.

“Well, dear?” said his wife.

“It is not quite what I thought,” he answered with a curious smile, then ate his toast in a brooding silence. Never in the habit of making secrets like his son, he nevertheless had a strong dislike of showing his feelings. Besides, he was too proud to reveal his interest in the special contents of this letter.

The poor, yet hopeless and hardly indulged, ambition of Mr. Raymount’s life was to possess a portion of earth—even if only an acre or two. He came of families possessing property, but none of it had come anywhere near him except what belonged to cousin Strafford. He was her nearest relation, but he had never hoped to inherit anything from her. After a final quarrel had put an end to their quarrelling, he had stopped seeing her altogether. For many years there had not been the slightest communication between the cousins. But in the course of those years, all the other relatives of the old lady had died, and, as the letter he now held informed him, he was after all heir to her property—a small estate in a lovely spot among the roots of the Cumberland hills. Quite a few thousand pounds in government securities accompanied the property.

But while Mr. Raymount was not a money lover in any notable sense, his delight in having land of his own was almost beyond utterance. This delight had nothing to do with the money value of the property—he scarcely thought of that. It came in large part because of a new sense of room and freedom. It made him so filled with gladness he could hardly get his toast down.

Mrs. Raymount was by this time tolerably familiar with her husband’s moods, but she had never before seen him look just the way he looked now, and was puzzled. The fact was, he had never before had such a pleasant surprise, and sat absorbed in a foretaste of bliss in which the ray of March sun that lighted up the delicate transparencies of the veined crocuses purple and golden, might seem the announcing angel.

Presently he rose and left the room, his wife following him. The moment she entered his study behind him, he turned and took her in his arms.