Geoffrey Hamlyn

n the ranges, and the river reduced to a slender stream of water, almost lost upon the broad white flats of quartz shingle. It was the end of February, I said, when Major Buckley, Captain Brentwo

orange-trees were still green enough, and vast clusters of purple grapes were ripening rapidly among the yellowing vine-leaves. On the whole, however, the garden was but a poor subject of contemplation for one

ing and whinnying towards him, and then it was a sight to see the old fellow as he trotted towards them, with his nose in the air, and his tail arched, throwing his legs out before him with the ease and grace of a four

" I said, "what

major very slowly. "Why, my good

on't mean to say that that

the major. "He'd carry

England," I said. "Ah, major, that h

in those circumstances which caused Sam to take a certain famous ride upon him. And you would find that the history of the horse would

so?"

have," he said, "to begin at the end of the last century, and bring

u exaggerat

Thornton families in the last generation. The Brentwoods also, must not be

life-time;" s

of the three families, which no one is more able to do than myself, seeing that nothing

, I am sure it would amuse us

Captain Brentwood; "you'll make a failure of i

rew it on the floor - as on the stage the honest notary throws down the long-lost wil

e, captain," I sai

othing; but the major said, "Good g

and. I propose to read it aloud

e which was now seen approaching us up a long vista of trellised vines. A tall figure dre

ight as a dart: she came towards us through the burning heat, as calmly and majestically as if the temperature had been delightfully mod

"Hamlyn is going to read al

hot weather," said Mrs. Buckley. "

ou will soon discover, in spite of a change o

so on I went with the next chapte

r will pr

not least, who the Dickens are you?" If you will have patience, my dear si