nd Mary Jane have your room."

Margaret did not care much for all this; but the solemnity of the
chamber in which, when she last saw it, her brother's body was lying,
added something to her sadness at the moment.

"Sarah," she said, endeavouring to warn her sister-in-law by the tone
of her voice that her news was bad news, "I have just come from Mr
Slow."

"He's the lawyer, isn't he?"

"Yes, he's the lawyer. You know what I promised my brother. I went to
him to make arrangements for doing it, and when there I heard--oh,
Sarah, such dreadful news!"

"He says you're not to do it, I suppose!" And in the woman's voice
and eyes there were signs of anger, not against Mr Slow alone, but
also against Miss Mackenzie. "I knew how it would be. But, Margaret,
Mr Slow has got nothing to do with it. A promise is a promise; and a
promise made to a dying man! Oh, Margaret!"

"If I had it to give I would give it as surely as I am standing here.
When I told my brother it should be so, he believed me at once."

"Of course he believed you."

"But Sarah, they tell me now that I have nothing to give."

"Who tells you so?"

"The lawyer. I cannot explain it all to you; indeed, I do not as
yet understand it myself; but I have learned this morning that the
property which Walter left me was not his to leave. It had been given
away before Mr Jonathan Ball died."

"It's a lie!" said the injured woman,--the woman who was the least
injured, but who, with her children, had perhaps the best excuse for
being ill able to bear the injury. "It must be a lie. It's more than
twenty years ago. I don't believe and won't believe that it can be
so. John Ball must have something to do with this."

"The property will go to him, but he has had nothing to do with it.
Mr Slow found it out."

"It can't be so, not after twenty years. Whatever they may have done
from Walter, they can't take it away from you; not if you've spirit
enough to stand up for your rights. If you let them take it in that
way, I can't tell you what I shall think of you."

"It is my own lawyer that says so."

"Yes, Mr Slow; the biggest rogue of them all. I always knew that of
him, always. Oh, Margaret, think of the children! What are we to do?
What are we to do?" And sitting down on the bedside, she put her
dirty apron up to her eyes.

"I have been thinking of them ever since I heard it," said Margaret.

"But what good will thinking do? You must do something. Oh! Margaret,
a