over, Mr. Barford quietly took possession of the house and estates. He behaved kindly and liberally to the old servants, giving a handsome allowance to each; and, in addition, giving old Jane the furniture of her mistress's room, as a memorial of her long and faithful service. "Poor old woman!" he said to Mr. Sherborne, "I dare say she greatly admires those lumbering old things in Betsey's room; I am sure I shall be glad to get rid of them."

Mr. Sherborne bore his disappointment with true Christian courage. "I had hoped," he said to his wife, "to have made a good use of this fortune, and I had, perhaps, too confidently destined it to make Robert independent: now he will have to make his way for himself; and I must let him into the secret, and explain to him how it is that his circumstances are changed."

Young Sherborne had not long since completed his Oxford career, and had greatly distinguished himself. He had taken a first-class degree, and had had the rare honour of carrying off both the English and Latin verse at the Commemoration, appearing first in the Rostrum on one side, and then crossing over to the opposite one on the other side, amidst the

deafening cheers from all parts of the theatre. He was one of the best orators at the Debating Society; and many were the prophecies that he would end his days as an eminent statesman.

He had gathered from his father that he would be independent, and, as he was the eldest son, he had taken it for granted, and never inquired further.

It was soon after the events we have narrated had taken place that he returned home from a tour in the Tyrolese Alps, full of buoyant spirits. He was struck, the first evening he came home, with his father's unwonted gravity of manner. The whole was explained the next day. Mr. Sherborne took his son out for a long walk, during which he related to him all that had happened.

Robert spared his father the pain of adding what the consequences to himself were, by interrupting him

"My dear father, I see it all; you mean that now I shall have to work for my bread, instead of being an idle gentleman. Do not have a moment's pain about me. I am young; let me go and learn what life is abroad. Often and often when I have been getting subjects for the Debating Society, I have

thought what an advantage it must be to men to speak of what they know practically, and it made me long to know more of life out of England. Why should I not emigrate, and try to make a sufficient fortune to enable me to come back to a small independence in middle life when you are growing old, dear father, and require looking after, and helping?"

From that time the Sandown estate was thought of no more; and Robert and his parents turned their minds to the consideration of the best country to go to.

After much consideration, Australia seemed to be the most promising, and it was accordingly decided he should go there, his father advancing sufficient capital for him to begin farming with on a small scale.

It was no use putting off till another year. Let me go at once, father, before I settle down into English life. The change could not have come at a better time; I have done with College, and I have begun nothing else. It is now the beginning of August let me sail in November; and, in the intervening time, let me devote my time to learning what I can of practical farming." And for this purpose Robert arranged to go for three months to Lord

Carringham's agent, he being considered a first-rate agricultural authority. It was during his stay in the village of Carringham that he met Sir John Moreton, a great friend of Captain Maynard's. Sir John heard the outline of his story, and was so much struck with the young man's energy and talent, that he wrote to suggest to Captain Maynard that it would be a great kindness if he would offer young Sherborne a passage in the Seagull as far as Sydney. The result we already know.

CHAPTER VII.

MADEIRA IN DEATH.

WE must now return to Madeira, where we left the Eversley family after the departure of the Seagull. Mr. Eversley's state of health precluded their accepting any of the kind invitations given by the hospitable residents. Morning visits were exchanged, and now and then the girls joined riding parties on distant excursions.

But they were never weary of the views from their own Quinta grounds, and they delighted to wander down to the Pontinha bridge, and to sit watching the waves breaking upon the rocks.

Was it only the rainbows on the waves that attracted Alice specially to that spot? She would probably have answered, had she been asked, that it was; but her inmost heart told her that she loved the