ONE day after this Harry came in with a letter in his hand.

“Here is news, Milly, darling; not such news as we expected, but still news,” said he; “this is not how you are to become a great heiress, certainly; but still it’s interesting. It turns out, after, all, that your grandfather was not rich.”

“Oh! is it Mr. Pendleton’s letter?” said I.

“Pendleton’s brother has something to do with it,” said Harry, with a little excitement; “there was not much money—not any more than enough to pay the debts and give some presents to the old servants—but there is the house. They had no funds to employ in looking up the heir, and nobody cared to take much trouble. So there it stands falling to pieces. Look here, Milly; it’s yours, indisputably yours.”

“But how about Miss Mortimer?” cried I.

Harry stopped short all at once as he was opening the letter, and stared at me. “Miss Mortimer! who is she?” he said, in the most entire amazement. He might well look surprised: but I had so entirely made up my mind about her, and that she was living in the old house, that his question was quite a shock to me.

“Why, Miss Mortimer, to be sure,” I said, faltering a little; and then I could not help laughing at Harry’s astonished face.

“It appears that you know more than Mr. Pendleton does, Milly,” said he; “there is no Miss Mortimer here. I suppose you are only amusing yourself at my expense: but I really am quite in earnest. Mr. Mortimer’s house is entirely yours. He had no child but your father; you are the heir-at-law. I only wish there had been a Miss Mortimer. You may look displeased, Milly darling; but think if there had been a good old lady to take care of you while I’m away!”

“Oh, Harry, you don’t know what you are saying,” cried I; “that Miss Mortimer was an old witch and beauty. Mrs. Saltoun told me that if she should turn out to be a relation of mine, she would speak to you herself, to say that I must not on any account go there.”

“Go where? What Miss Mortimer are you speaking of?” said Harry, completely mystified.{96}

Then I had to confess that I knew nothing of her, and it was all imagination; and Harry shook it off quite lightly, and went on to talk of this house. As if I ever could, after all my fancies, put Miss Mortimer out of that house! As if she had not taken possession, a wonderful old ghost, always to live and reign there! And, moreover, my heart got quite chill within me as Harry spoke. This was my bad omen; this was the sign I had appointed with myself for the coming of every trouble. I got so pale, listening to him, that he was disturbed, and grew quite anxious. Was I ill? What was the matter with me? I said No, with a gasp, and let him go on. He read out of the letter all the description of this dreadful house; but I am sure I did not need any description. I saw it as clear as a picture; large rooms, to be sure, with great faded Turkey carpets on them! a low broad staircase, with myself coming down on the post-morning wringing my hands, and Miss Mortimer sitting all silent by the fire; a large old garden with mossy apple-trees, and a sun-dial somewhere about, some dozen bedrooms or so, all hushed and solemn, as if people had died there. I am not sure that I heard the words of Harry’s description; for what was she good? I saw it perfectly well in my mind, far clearer than I ever could have known it by words.

“And Harry,” cried I, with a start of despair, when he came to a pause, “would you really have me go to live in such a place—a place I never was in in all my life—a place I have no kind feeling about, nor pleasant thoughts—only because it was my grandfather’s house, whom I never saw, and who never cared to see me? I did not think you could have been so cruel. Besides, it would be far too expensive. Servants would have to be kept for it; and you must make up your mind that it would kill me.”

“But it might sell for a good price,” said Harry, “and I might get you a pretty cottage, where you pleased, with the money. I am going to write to old Pendleton to tell him who you are and all about it. You have had your own way with your first bit of fortune; but I should not at all wonder, Milly darling,” he said, laughing, “if you were to offer it, rent free, to your Aunt Connor, that she might find it a very eligible situation. After such a description, Mrs. Connor is not the woman to despise the red-brick house.”

“She might have it altogether, and welcome, for me,” said I. “Oh, Harry, I can’t help thinking it’s an ill omened place. I could never be happy there.”

“Who ever heard of an ill omen now-a-days?” said Harry,{97} “it’s a pagan fancy, Milly. For my part the idea rather captivates me. I should like to live in the house my good father was born in. My bridegroom uncle has it now. Don’t you think I had better write and tell him my little wife is an heiress? However, perhaps the best thing will be to try and sell the house.”

“Oh, much the best thing!” I said. That would be getting rid of it, at............