'take the chaise down to the inn,' said the squire.

'that is advisable,' said dr. cruden. 'i never bring a servant here.'

'i haven't seen poor shady for a long time,' said the squire. 'he's a good fellow, but has lived so long alone that strange faces would scare him; and as to horses, i would not trust one in such a miserable wilderness of starvation for the world. how are we to get in? in my time we went in and out at the front door like other folks; the last time i came, you took me through the little door in the tower.'

'i think it would be more prudent if we entered the kitchen way—sir valary is less likely to hear us;' for the doctor knew perfectly well that when the squire meant to be exceedingly quiet he carried a considerable amount of bustle, which seemed as necessary to him as his breath.

'all right; we might have a worse place than the kitchen at breakfast-time, and i should think we must all of us be pretty nearly ready for a second. what a miserable place it is!' he continued, as they entered the courtyard; 'doesn't it look as if it had had the nightmare for the last fifty years? well, stone walls are not worth crying about; but i can't say this is a very promising introduction to the home of your ancestors, eu.'

mrs. gillies, who had seen their advance, met them, making her lowest curtsey to the squire, for whom, in common with all, she entertained a hearty regard.

'what! you haven't forgotten me then!' he said good-humouredly.

'forgotten you, sir!' was the reply. a few questions put them in possession of all they wanted to know concerning sir valary, and of more than they expected in respect of bloodworth's opportune visit.

'capital! we can settle the whole affair at once; i like finishing up. now, how shall we proceed?'

'my advice is that i go in to sir valary directly he awakes, and prepare him for an interview with you. by degrees we must unfold the cause of our visit as he is able to bear it, and'—

'and then eu is to come in. i see.' shady, who had been listening at sir valary's door for sounds within and sounds without, heard the squire's voice, and, gently descending, made his appearance among them. bloodshot eyes from a sleepless night had not increased the vivacity of his countenance.

'shady,' said the squire, shaking him kindly by the hand, 'why, what have they been doing to you? i hope your master does not look as bad as you do.'

'he is tranquilly sleeping,' said shady, moved to tears by the squire's kindness. 'i have but now left his door, and there is not the sound of a breath within; but miss de la mark requested that when dr. cruden arrived he might be taken to the chamber.'

'good,' said the squire; 'i am glad we are going to proceed to action. go, doctor; tell him to cheer up, and he'll soon come right again.'

the doctor was halfway up-stairs before the squire's parting charge was over. mr. brimble and his nephew were engaged in such conversation as their circumstances naturally suggested, questioning shady on points on which he could perchance throw light. the doctor returned, looking exceedingly pale.

'what! back already!' said the squire.

'my dear friend,' he replied, unable to restrain his tears, 'it is all over; such a scene may i never witness again!'

exclamations of shocked surprise burst from sir eustace and his uncle, while shady stood transfixed and seemed ready to faint.

'come,' said the doctor; and he returned, leading the way to the chamber of death.

leaning in his chair, his attitude unchanged, his eyes still closed, rested all that remained of sir valary de la mark, while marjory, with the hand still clasped in hers, slept that heavy sleep which nature sometimes claims to repair extreme exhaustion.

'this is too much!' said the squire; 'how shall we get her away?'

'leave me, leave me,' replied the doctor. 'i will do it.'

willingly mr. brimble relinquished to him the task, and the doctor, gently releasing the cold hand from marjory's grasp, raised her from her father's side.

'my dear child,' he said tenderly, 'you must not remain here now. your uncle is come, and we need to be alone with—in this room; and you shall lie down, my dear—mrs. gillies—rest on me—this way;' and he attempted to lead her from the room, but marjory was now awake, and resisted the movement at first. 'need i leave him?' she whispered. 'i have slept, i am quite strong now, and he must be better, for he has slept so long.'

importunity at last prevailed. she consented to go for a while. 'but let me see him first,' she said; just one look. he was so calm, so peaceful, when he first sank into sleep. how could i sleep when i ought to have been watching him?'

finding it vain to resist, the doctor yielded, and she advanced.

not a cry—not a word—but one long settled look of horror and despair. she stood motionless before the body.

* * * * *

'leave me to deal with him,' said eustace. 'but you,' turning to the doctor, 'had better be with me. we will spare you, my dear uncle; there is no necessity to arouse your feelings by bringing you in contact with him.'

'good!' said the squire, who had been leaning silently on the window-frame, looking out on the neglected garden, and living over again the scenes of his youth. there had never existed any brotherly affection between him and sir valary; entire contrariety of character, and the treatment of eustace, which the squire had always attributed to him, had early separated them, and the influence of bloodworth had succeeded in keeping them apart, even to the end. it was not grief for the dead, therefore, that gave the saddened expression to his fine manly countenance. there were, no doubt, regrets, but they were for eustace, whom he had dearly loved. but there were uneasy thoughts—unwelcome reminders—that he alone remained of that generation, and that he too must die.

from subjects pointing this way mr. brimble ever studiously turned. he had faced death often in the pursuit of pleasure, for he was still so fearless a rider that his escapes while hunting were often the marvel of the neighbourhood.

yet to see the destroyer close, in calmness and quiet, was more than he could bear! indeed, if truth were told, that ever joyous face was sometimes but a mask hiding gloomy, heart-sickening misgivings. he had a deep-seated respect for religion. he fully, honestly, intended one day to be ready to die, and hoped, or thought he did, to go to heaven, when he could no longer live on earth. but that day he put off as an evil day, and avoided everything that reminded him of its necessity. it was, therefore, very acceptable to him to be released from a scene that was every way adverse to his comfort.

'if i could be of any use,' he said; 'but i am no man of business, and as to poor madge, i couldn't see her yet; i should only make her worse.'

ah! it is at such times that the truth of human nature comes out. the squire was benevolent to a proverb—open-handed as the day, kind as a father—up to a certain point, in earthly relationships and dealings, blameless. yet, after all, his was a most refined selfishness. he enjoyed the happiness of others, for it unconsciously helped to make his own, and this gave the glowing colours to his universally admired character. but to deny himself, to suffer with others, to descend into darkness with them, and bear their sorrows—oh no! yet this shrinking from the griefs of others was looked on as a finishing mark of his great amiability. thus, even in regard to his fellow-men, his love was one-sided; and in regard to the higher love, without which all earthly excellencies are vain, his heart had it not. every mile that took him from parker's dew lightened his spirit, for his constant habit of suppressing all painful or serious thoughts had made the effort a very easy one.

the heavy walls and high windows of the apartment in which bloodworth had remained forgotten had prevented him from hearing the hurry and confusion of the last two or three hours, and he was chafing with rage against the housekeeper and shady for their insolence in thus detaining him, if done purposely, when the door opened and the doctor and sir eustace entered. various emotions in turn took the place of anger, but fear was predominant. he looked with a cowering, questioning expression, but was silent.

'mr. bloodworth,' said dr. cruden, 'your accounts will be required—your late master's affairs'—

the doctor always failed in a set speech: he could get no further. the shock, compassion for marjory, sympathy with the heart-stricken shady and the faithful housekeeper, had left him no time to feel; but now that he came to announce the death of his friend, whose sickness he had so long anxiously watched, and for whom he had from boyhood had a very sincere attachment, he was overcome.

bloodworth's eyes moved quickly from one to the other. he was by no means taken by surprise. he had long expected it. he had intended to make his final visit to his master that morning, hoping so to profit by it as to remove all fear and establish his future fortunes.

'am i to understand,' he said, 'that sir valary'—

'you understand aright,' said sir eustace, interrupting him. 'and now, sir, where is the original will of sir eustace de la mark? understand me. by the original will, i mean that which was set aside to make way for the instrument that put your late master in possession of his father's property, to the exclusion of his brother. are you prepared to produce it?' he continued, waving his hand, as he saw that bloodworth was about to assert a denial.

'really,' said the steward, pale with terror, but trying to recover his effrontery, 'this is very strange conduct. sir valary, whom i have served so faithfully for so many years, and for whom i have sacrificed my comfort and earned a bad name, is no longer alive to protect me, and therefore i am to be attacked with base charges,—unjust charges,—and that by strangers. where is mr. brimble? i know that he is executor to sir valary; i always begged that he would make him so. he is the proper person to inquire into all the affairs, and i hold myself answerable to him, and to no one else.'

'you talk beside the mark,' said sir eustace coolly; 'you will certainly be called upon to account for your stewardship. but you know perfectly well that the estates which sir valary was supposed to possess did not belong to him. we need not waste words; the will to which you were last a witness was a forgery. you are now required to produce that for which it was substituted, and which i know is not destroyed.'

'i will take my oath,' said bloodworth after a pause, 'that i saw that will signed by sir eustace's own hand, and that i was a true witness to the signature. there was indeed a previous will,' he continued, rather reassured by the silence that followed this declaration, 'to which i and my fellow-witness in the last both subscribed also. sir eustace suddenly had another one drawn up, in consequence of certain reports that reached him concerning his two sons.'

'who drew up the will?'

'nicholas harris, a clerk of mine bred to the law.'

'where is he to be found?'

'that would be unimportant,' said bloodworth carelessly; 'he died, however, shortly afterwards.'

'bloodworth,' said sir eustace, 'the deed was soon done, and will take little time to confess. make a clean breast, and say who signed that second will that you attested?'

'sir eustace de la mark.'