This state of things, by some strange fatality, had gone on for nearly a
hundred years, and the consequence was what might have been fairly
expected, namely--that, what with their vices and what with their
extravagances, the successive heads of the Bannerworth family had
succeeded in so far diminishing the family property that, when it came
into the hands of Henry Bannerworth, it was of little value, on account
of the numerous encumbrances with which it was saddled. The father of Henry had not been a very brilliant exception to the
general rule, as regarded the head of the family. If he were not quite
so bad as many of his ancestors, that gratifying circumstance was to be
accounted for by the supposition that he was not quite so bold, and that
the change in habits, manners, and laws, which had taken place in a
hundred years, made it not so easy for even a landed proprietor to play
the petty tyrant. He had, to get rid of those animal spirits which had prompted many of
his predecessors to downright crimes, had recourse to the gaming-table,
and, after raising whatever sums he could upon the property which
remained, he naturally, and as might have been fully expected, lost them
all. He was found lying dead in the garden of the house one day, and by his
side was his pocket-book, on one leaf of which, it was the impression of
the family, he had endeavoured to write something previous to his
decease, for he held a pencil firmly in his grasp. The probability was that he had felt himself getting ill, and, being
desirous of making some communication to his family which pressed
heavily upon his mind, he had attempted to do so, but was stopped by the
too rapid approach of the hand of death. For some days previous to his decease, his conduct had been extremely
mysterious. He had announced an intention of leaving England for
ever--of selling the house and grounds for whatever they would fetch
over and above the sums for which they were mortgaged, and so clearing
himself of all encumbrances. He had, but a few hours before he was found lying dead, made the
following singular speech to Henry,--

"Do not regret, Henry, that the old house which has been in our family
so long is about to be parted with. Be assured that, if it is but for
the first time in my life, I have good and substantial reasons now for
what I am about to do. We shall be able to go some other country, and
there live like princes of the land." Where the means were to come from to live like a prince, unless Mr.
Bannerworth had some of the German princes in his eye, no one knew but
himself, and his sudden death buried with him that most important
secret. There were some words written on the leaf of his pocket-book, but they
were of by far too indistinct and ambiguous a nature to lead to
anything. They were these:--

"The money is ----------"

And then there was a long scrawl of the pencil, which seemed to have
been occasioned by his sudden decease. Of course nothing could be made of these words, except in the way of a
contradiction as the family lawyer said, rather more facetiously than a
man of law usually speaks, for if he had written "The money is not," he
would have been somewhere remarkably near the truth. However, with all his vices he was regretted by his children, who chose
rather to remember him in his best aspect than to dwell upon his faults. For the first time then, within the memory of man, the head of the
family of the Bannerworths was a gentleman, in every sense of the word. Brave, generous, highly educated, and full of many excellent and noble
qualities--for such was Henry, whom we have introduced to our readers
under such distressing circumstances. And now, people said, that the family property having been all
dissipated and lost, there would take place a change, and that the
Bannerworths would have to take to some course of honourable industry
for a livelihood, and that then they would be as much respected as they
had before been detested and disliked. Indeed, the position which Henry held was now a most precarious one--for
one of the amazingly clever acts of his father had been to encumber the
property with overwhelming claims, so that when Henry administered to
the estate, it was doubted almost by his attorney if it were at all
desirable to do so. An attachment, however, to the old house of his family, had induced the
young man to hold possession of it as long as he could, despite any
adverse circumstance which might eventually be connected with it. Some weeks, however, only after the decease of his father, and when he
fairly held possession, a sudden and a most unexpected offer came to him
from a solicitor in London, of whom he knew nothing, to purchase the
house and grounds, for a client of his, who had instructed him so to do,
but whom he did not mention. The offer made was a liberal one, and beyond the value of the place. The lawyer who had conducted Henry's affairs for him since his father's
decease, advised him by all means to take it; but after a consultation
with his mother and sister, and George, they all resolved to hold by
their own house as long as they could, and, consequently, he refused the
offer. He was then asked to let the place, and to name his own price for the
occupation of it; but that he would not do: so the negotiation went off
altogether, leaving only, in the minds of the family, much surprise at
the exceeding eagerness of some one, whom they knew not, to get
possession of the place on any terms. There was another circumstance perhaps which materially aided in
producing a strong feeling on the minds of the Bannerworths, with regard
to remaining where they were. That circumstance occurred thus: a relation of the family, who was now
dead, and with whom had died all his means, had been in the habit, for
the last half dozen years of his life, of sending a hundred pounds to
Henry, for the express purpose of enabling him and his brother George
and his sifter Flora to take a little continental or home tour, in the
autumn of the year. A more acceptable present, or for a more delightful purpose, to young
people, could not be found; and, with the quiet, prudent habits of all
three of them, they contrived to go far and to see much for the sum
which was thus handsomely placed at their disposal. In one of those excursions, when among the mountains of Italy, an
adventure occurred which placed the life of Flora in imminent hazard. They were riding along a narrow mountain path, and, her horse slipping,
she fell over the ledge of a precipice. In an instant, a young man, a stranger to the whole party, who was
travelling in the vicinity, rushed to the spot, and by his knowledge and
exertions, they felt convinced her preservation was effected.