And then he realized all
that he had suffered, he remembered the hand that had dealt him the
blow. And while Mrs. Sandal was kissing away his tears, and speaking
words of hope and love, a letter came from Sophia.
It was dated Calcutta. Julius had taken her there in the winter, and the
news of her father's illness did not reach her for some weeks. But, as
it happened, when Charlotte's letter detailing the sad event arrived,
Julius was particularly in need of something to wonder over and to
speculate about; and of all subjects, Seat-Sandal interested him most.
To be master of the fine old place was his supreme ambition. He felt
that he possessed all the qualities necessary to make him a leader among
the Dales gentlemen. He foresaw, through them, social influence and
political power; and he had an ambition to make his reign in the house
of Sandal the era of a new and far more splendid dynasty.
He had been lying in the shade, drinking iced coffee, and smoking. But
as Sophia read, he sat upright, and a look of speculation came into his
eyes. "There is no use weeping, my love," he said languidly, "you will
only dim your beauty, and that will do neither your father nor me any
good. Let us go to Sandal. Charlotte and mother must be worn out, and we
can be useful at such a time. I think, indeed, our proper place is
there. The affairs of the 'walks' and the farms must be attended to, and
what will they do on quarter-day? Of course Harry will not remain there.
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