WIFE.
SOME OF OUR GIRLS.

By Lady Constance Howard.

By the Author of "Recommended to Mercy."

By Mrs. Alexander Fraser.

By Harriett Jay.

A

RICH MAN'S RELATIVES.

BY

R. CLELAND,

AUTHOR OF "INCHBRACKEN."

IN THREE VOLUMES.

VOL. II.

LONDON:

F. V. WHITE AND CO.,

31, SOUTHAMPTON STREET, STRAND, W.C.

1885.

PRINTED BY
KELLY AND CO., GATE STREET, LINCOLN'S INN FIELDS;
AND MIDDLE MILL KINGSTON-ON-THAMES.

CONTENTS

A RICH MAN'S RELATIVES.

CHAPTER I.

FINANCE.

The sunshine and the glow faded slowly out of the air, the world fell into shadow, and the heavens changed their sunset glory for the blue transparency of summer twilight. Evening spread wings of soothing calm over the drowsy land, worn out, as a child might be, with its day-long revel in the garish light. The air grew softened and refreshed with falling dews which gathered unnoticed on the leaves and grass blades. The winds were still, and only fire-flies, blinking among the herbage or pursuing aimless flights across the deepening dimness, disturbed the perfect rest.

Along the dusty road came sounds of wheels, the wheels of the Misses Stanleys' home-going guests. The sound spread far and wide across the humid air which sublimated it into something above the common daylight noise, rasping and jarring against stones and gravel, into a rumbling half musical with suggestive echoes reverberating through the stillness.

Out of the gate they came, those vehicles, along the road, around the corner where Bruneau's cottage stood, and down towards the village shrouded in gathering obscurity, with the twinkle of a candle scattered through it here and there in rivalry of the fire-flies in the bushes nearer hand, but far less brilliant. The vehicles rumbled and disappeared, and the echoes of their wheels died out as ripples die on the surface of a stagnant pool; and the road was left alone to night and silence.

But not for long. Two passengers on foot came forward by-and-by, their footsteps audible in the sensitive quiet, while yet themselves were scarce visible in the gloom, and the fumes of their cigars tainting the sweetness of the clover-scented air. It was Considine and Jordan, who had preferred to walk while the rest drove on, and were enjoying their tobacco in the coolness on their leisurely way.

"Fine lad that ward of ours is growing up. Healthy, handsome, and well conditioned, I should say by his looks. Likely to do credit to his good fortune." It was Jordan who spoke.

"To whom do you allude, sir?" answered the other, with the prim formality of print, and of his native land--a formality which continued residence among Her Majesty's more easy-spoken subjects was little likely to relax at his time of life. "I am not aware of any lad to whom I stand in the relation of guardian to a ward."

"I mean Ralph Herkimer's boy, of course. No! You are right enough! He is not our ward in the legal sense. We can have no voice in his education. But, really, if we had, I do not think we could have brought him up better."

"Ha! Ralph's boy? Yes. He seems what we would class as 'good ordinairy,' down my way, in the Cotton States--a shade better than 'fair to middlin'.' He ain't just real peart, I should say, but then he is not a poor man's son, so that is natural. It takes hard work, and hard feed, and not too much of the feed either, to make a lad truly peart. But he seems high-toned, and that's the main point with a young man