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Mr Harrington!” she said; “this would not be the way to welcome my poor dead guardian’s grandson, and I think it is due to me that you should refrain.”

      “What!” he cried, staggered for the moment by her manner and bearing, as she crossed to a writing-table. “Nonsense, girl; you know nothing of the ways of the world. I’ll meet this man, and see what he is like.”

      Gertrude took no notice, but wrote two telegrams, and handed them to the housekeeper.

      “Send them at once,” she whispered, and she turned to the door, where Saul’s hand was raised to stop her, but there was a low growl from close at hand, Saul started and shrank away, leaving the door free; but before Gertrude was half way to the room, with the dog close at her heels, Saul had followed, and entered the dining-room just as the keen-looking, sun-browned, and well-dressed man, who had stood gazing at old Harrington’s portrait, turned quickly and advanced to meet the agitated girl.

      “How do you do?” he said, in a sharp decisive way, as he held out both hands, Gertrude placing hers within them, to be retained, as the stranger looked at her searchingly, and evidently with satisfaction. “There you need not tell me,” he continued, “you’re Gertrude, I know. I say, quite a shock to me to come back too late. That’s the old man, I suppose?”

      He nodded towards the portrait as, without moving her eyes from his, Gertrude replied:

      “Yes, that is uncle’s – I mean dear guardian’s portrait.”

      “Like him?”

      “Oh, so very like,” replied Gertrude, “I can almost fancy sometimes he is looking down at me from the wall.”

      “Ah,” exclaimed the other, giving a quick glance up at the picture and back to Gertrude, whose hands he still held, and pressed warmly. “Of course I don’t remember. Quite a little shaver when I went over yonder.”

      Saul, who stood glowering at the pair, half mad with rage and disappointment, winced at these words, but setting his teeth hard, he said quietly:

      “Have you just arrived?”

      “Reached Liverpool last night. Came on this morning. Very rough passage. Who are you?”

      “I,” said Saul, forcing a smile – “well, I am – here is my card.”

      He did not finish his sentence, but drew a card from his case.

      “Mr Saul Harrington,” read the stranger. “Let’s see, I think I have heard of you?”

      “Well, I should presume so,” replied Saul stiffly.

      “I was right up the country when grandfather’s last letter came,” said the new-comer hastily, “but I got back to ’Frisco, and then across to New York, and took boat soon as I could, and here I am. Didn’t stop about much luggage, so as to be quick. Can I stay here?”

      “Stay here?” said Gertrude, withdrawing her hands. “Oh, yes, it is your own house.”

      “Ah, to be sure, I suppose so,” cried the young man sharply; and as he spoke his dark eyes were running from one to the other, and then to the dog, which kept on sniffing at him uneasily. “Won’t bite, will he?”

      “Oh no. Lie down, Bruno,” cried Gertrude hastily.

      “Don’t know so much about that,” said Saul; “he can bite sometimes.”

      “Well, he’d better keep his fangs out of me,” said the young man, with an involuntary movement of the hand beneath the back of his morning coat.

      “You’ll excuse me,” interposed Saul, taking a step forward, “but you are a perfect stranger to us, sir.”

      “Natural-lee,” said the young man. “Never met before, of course.”

      “Then will you be good enough to give me some proofs that you are the gentleman whose card you sent up.”

      “Eh? Proofs? Oh, yes. No, I won’t. Look here, sir, this is a curious welcome; pray, who are you?”

      “I gave you my card, sir.”

      “Yes, of course, Saul Harrington – Mr Saul Harrington. But that don’t explain – yes, it does, you’re a cousin. The old man said something about you in his last letter.”

      “And in the others,” said Saul sharply.

      “Of course.”

      “Have you the letters?”

      “I told you I had, didn’t I? Am I to show them to you?”

      “Stop,” cried Gertrude quietly.

      “Eh? Stop!” cried Saul fiercely. “How do we know that this is not an impostor?”

      “A what,” roared the young man fiercely.

      “Stop, if you please,” said Gertrude. “Mr Saul Harrington is only a visitor here, Mr George, and has no right to make such a demand of you.”

      “Mind what you are saying,” cried Saul angrily.

      “I am minding what I am saying, sir. You have no right to ask such questions.”

      “What? Not in your behalf?”

      “No, sir,” interposed their visitor sharply, as he took his cue from Gertrude; “no right at all.”

      “I was not speaking to you,” said Saul roughly; and the two men stood glowering at each other, Saul having rather the best of it, till Gertrude spoke hastily, in dread of a quarrel:

      “If there is any need for Mr George Harrington to prove his identity, it should be to Mr Hampton and Doctor Lawrence.”

      “Who are they?” said the young man sharply.

      “My dear guardians,” replied Gertrude.

      “Seems rather a strange thing,” said the young man, giving Gertrude a reproachful look, and then metaphorically setting up his hackles as he turned defiantly upon Saul, “that I come back to England, at my grandfather’s invitation, to my own place, and find some one, who has no right, beginning to dictate to me as to what I am to do.”

      “I don’t know about dictating,” said Saul, who grew more calm as the stranger became excited; “but you don’t suppose, sir, that I, as my uncle’s representative, am going to stand by and let a perfect stranger enter upon the place, and take possession. What proof have I that you are George Harrington?”

      “Proof? Didn’t I send up my card?”

      “Card!” cried Saul contemptuously.

      “Oh, if that isn’t enough I can give you plenty more proofs,” cried the young man quickly.

      “Stop, Mr George Harrington,” said Gertrude, warmly espousing his cause. “Mr Saul Harrington assumes too much. I am my guardian’s representative at The Mynns till his grandson comes and takes possession. I decline, then, to let you be treated in this uncalled-for way.”

      “Thank you, my dear, thank you,” cried the young fellow sharply. “Now, Mr Saul Harrington, what have you got to say to that?”

      “Gertrude, you’ll repent this,” cried Saul, whose jealous rage and disappointment swept away the calm manner he had assumed.

      “Perhaps so. But if she does, I suppose it’s no business of yours, sir. He has no right to bully you, has he, my dear?”

      Gertrude flinched a little at this over-friendly, familiar way; but she thought to herself that George Harrington had led a rough life out in the West, and it was well meant. She could not help leaning, too, towards the man who had, she felt, a right to champion her, and he had come now to protect her and defend her against one whom now she literally loathed.

      She replied then eagerly:

      “None whatever, Mr George. This is your home, too, and he has no right to interfere upon your taking possession.”

      She held out her hand to him, and looked him frankly in the eyes, as she said quickly:

      “I’m

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