mother to plead for him, although it was
not likely that would have made any difference, for the Squire was not
a man to be appealed to and swayed this way or that. He took his
hedges, his drinks, and his course in life straight. The young man went
to India, where he was drowned. As there is no mystery in this matter,
it may as well be stated here that young Heaton ultimately returned to
England, as drowned men have ever been in the habit of doing, when
their return will mightily inconvenience innocent persons who have
taken their places. It is a disputed question whether the sudden
disappearance of a man, or his reappearance after a lapse of years, is
the more annoying.

If the old Squire felt remorse at the supposed death of his only son he
did not show it. The hatred which had been directed against his
unnatural offspring re-doubled itself and was bestowed on his nephew
David Allen, who was now the legal heir to the estate and its income.
Allen was the impecunious son of the Squire's sister who had married
badly. It is hard to starve when one is heir to a fine property, but
that is what David did, and it soured him. The Jews would not lend on
the security--the son might return--so David Allen waited for a dead
man's shoes, impoverished and embittered.

At last the shoes were ready for him to step into. The old Squire died
as a gentleman should, of apoplexy, in his armchair, with a decanter at
his elbow. David Allen entered into his belated inheritance, and his
first act was to discharge every servant, male and female, about the
place and engage others who owed their situations to him alone. Then
were the Jews sorry they had not trusted him.

[Illustration: HIS FIRST ACT WAS TO DISCHARGE EVERY SERVANT]

He was now rich but broken in health, with bent shoulders, without a
friend on the earth. He was a man suspicious of all the world, and he
had a furtive look over his shoulder as if he expected Fate to deal him
a sudden blow--as indeed it did.

It was a beautiful June day, when there passed the porter's lodge and
walked up the avenue to the main entrance of the Hall a man whose face
was bronzed by a torrid sun. He requested speech with the master and
was asked into a room to wait.

At length David Allen shuffled in, with his bent shoulders, glaring at
the intruder from under his bushy eyebrows. The stranger rose as he
entered and extended his hand.

"You don't know me, of course. I believe we have never met be