What could possess any man blessed with such a birthright to place himself in so false and degraded a position?

Then the carriage entered the Ulverston woods, said by connoisseurs to be the finest and most picturesque in England.  Such a glorious sight on this May evening as made the lawyer’s heart beat, though many years had passed since the fountain of poetry flowed for him.  The hawthorn and chestnut trees were all in flower; the maple and ash wore their most luxuriant foliage.  The grand old oaks in their leafy boughs concealed myriads of singing birds; underneath the shade of the trees, the blue hyacinths stretched out like the waves of the azure sea, the violets hid their modest heads, great golden primroses shone like stars from the midst of green leaves.  The air was sweet and warm; the music of the birds and the whispers of the wind were full of melody.

“A man possessed of all this,” thought Mr. Forster again; “he must be mad.”

Then the carriage stopped before the grand entrance of one of the most magnificent mansions in England.  Ulverston Priory—­whose beauty has been described, in prose and in verse, by pens more eloquent than mine.

“Is Lady Carruthers at home?” asked Mr. Forster of the stately old butler.

“My lady is at home, sir.”

“Will you ask if it is convenient for me to see her?  I have come hastily from London on important business.”

With all the solemnity an old family retainer displays on such occasions, the butler led the way to the library.

“I will send your message to my lady at once, sir.”

He went away and soon returned.

“My lady is dressing, but she will be with you in a few minutes.”  He placed a decanter of the famous Ulverston sherry on the table, and withdrew.  Mr. Forster gladly helped himself to a glass.  “I would take that or anything else to give me courage,” he said to himself.  “How am I to tell her?  I know not.”

In a quarter of an hour the door opened, and a stately lady, magnificently dressed, entered the room.  She was very dignified, of queenly presence and bearing, with the remains of great beauty in her face.

She bowed most courteously to the lawyer, and held out her white, jeweled hand.

“Good evening, Mr. Forster,” she said; “your visit has taken me by surprise.  You are well.  I hope?”

“Quite well, Lady Carruthers, myself.  Quite well, I thank you.”

But his manner was so confused, his face so flushed, that the stately lady looked at him in wonder.

“And my son, Mr. Forester!  Have you seen him lately?  Have you left him well?”

“He was in perfect health, Lady Carruthers, when I saw him last,” replied the lawyer, stiffly.

“I am glad of it.  I have no wish to complain, but I have not heard from my son lately.  He has not time to write, I suppose.”

“There will be no use in beating about the bush,” the lawyer thought.  “I had better speak plainly at once.”