Their studies were nearly completed, when the immense sums that Godfrey
had squandered in dissipation and gambling obliged the Colonel to recall
them home.
Algernon, although not a little displeased with his heartless selfish
son, received the young men with his usual kindness, but there was a
shade of care upon his broad open brow, which told to Anthony a tale of
anxiety and suffering, that caused him the deepest pain. As two whole
years must necessarily elapse before Anthony could enter into holy
orders, he determined to prosecute his studies in the country with their
worthy curate, Mr. Grant, a gentleman of great learning, piety, and
worth.
This arrangement was greatly to the satisfaction of his uncle, though
Godfrey shook his shoulders, and muttered that it would be "Confounded
dull work."
"I must introduce you, boys, to our new neighbors," said the Colonel,
next morning, at breakfast. "But mind that you don't pull caps for Miss
Whitmore, our charming young heiress."
"Who the deuce is she?" asked Godfrey.
"You knew that our poor old friend Henderson, of Hazelwood Lodge, was
dead?"
"Dead! Why when did he die?" said Godfrey. "You never wrote us a word
about it."
"Well, I thought I had. He died two months ago, and his property fell to
a very distant relation. A captain in the navy. A man of small family
and substantial means, who keeps a fine stud, a capital table, and a
cross old maid, his sister, to superintend his household and take care
of his daughter.
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