events. The
Gainsboroughs should, as he had promised, be asked to the funeral. They
should be invited with all honor and most formally, in the name of
Tristram of Blent--which, by the by was, according to law, also Miss
Cecily Gainsborough's. Harry had no name according to law; no more than
he had houses or pictures or treasures, any stick or stone, or the
smallest heritage in the bed of the Blent. He had been son to the
mistress of it all; she was gone and he was nobody--according to law. It
was, after all, a reasonable concession that his mother had urged on
him; the Gainsboroughs ought to be asked to the funeral. The last of his
vexation on this score died away into a sense of grim amusement at Addie
Tristram's wish and his own appreciation of it. He had no sense of
danger; Tristram had succeeded to Tristram; all was well.

Little inclined to sleep, he went down into the garden presently, lit
his cigar, and strolled on to the bridge. The night had grown clearer
and some stars showed in the sky; it was nearly one o'clock. He had
stood where he was only a few moments when to his surprise he heard the
sound of a horse's hoofs on the road from Blentmouth. Thinking the
doctor, who often did his rounds in the saddle, might have returned, he
crossed the bridge, opened the gate, and stood on the high road. The
rider came up in a few minutes and drew rein at the sight of his figure,
but, as Harry did not move, made as though he would ride on again with
no more than the customary country salute of "Good-night."

"Who is it?" asked Harry, peering through the darkness.

"Me--Bob Broadley," was the answer.

"You're late."

"I've been at the Club at Blentmouth. The Cricket Club's Annual Dinner,
you know."

"Ah, I forgot."

Bob, come to a standstill, was taking the opportunity of lighting his
pipe. This done, he looked up at the house and back to Harry rather
timidly.

"Lady Tristram----?" he began.

"My mother has been dead something above an hour," said Harry.

After a moment Bob dismounted and threw his reins over the gatepost.

"I'm sorry, Tristram," he said, holding out his hand. "Lady Tristram was
always very kind to me. Indeed she was that to everybody." He paused a
moment and then went on slowly. "It must seem strange to you. Why, I
remember when my father died I felt--besides the sorrow, you know--sort
of lost at coming into my bit of land at Mingham. But you----" Harry
could see his head turn as he looked o