were strong in Devonshire. Is there no
village chapel?"

John Castlemaine shook his head.

"The late squire owned the parish, and would not allow a chapel to be
built. If any of the people were to go to a dissenting chapel--well, I
need not go on. I only mention the fact to show you that there is need
for the influence of such a girl as you, Olive. Would you not like to be
Lady Bountiful in a Devonshire village, Olive?"

Evidently the thought was pleasant to her, and her father rejoiced that
he was able to distract her mind from her trouble.

"You have not bought the place, father?"

"No, but a telegram from me will settle the matter. It all depends on
you, Olive. As you know, I did not like the thought of going back to The
Beeches, neither for your sake nor mine."

"But we could not go there to live at once, father?"

"There need be but little delay. The late owner has only lately died,
and left the estate so mortgaged that the heirs cannot afford to live
there. They are anxious, moreover, that all the furniture of the house
shall be bought with the estate. Of course it will need some amount of
overhauling, but it should not take long. If I were to send a telegram
to-day, the place would be ours by to-morrow; then if we waited here a
week or so, we could go back and take up residence there. Of course you
would want to alter a lot of things, but a few days in London would be
sufficient for you to select all the things you wanted."

"Suppose I were to say yes, and then were to get tired of it?" she said.

"I don't think you would, Olive; but even if you did, it would be a very
good investment."

"Would you sell The Beeches?" she asked.

"Not at present; you see I should like to keep a place near London."

She thought a minute, and as she thought the picture of the old
Devonshire home became more and more pleasant. The idea of going back to
a London suburb became less and less pleasant, while the thought of an
old house situated amongst broad parks, and rich pasture lands which
stretched away to the moors, and the sea, grew upon her.

"Send the telegram, father," she said.

"That's right, Olive," said John Castlemaine as he left the room.

"I can't realise it, I can't realise it," she said when he was gone. "It
is all so strange, so terribly strange. Even now I can't feel that he is
dead."

Later, however, her doubts were removed. Papers came containing the
reports of the inquest, and then of the funer