nevitable disaster, my boy," replied Marvin, gravely. "That is
what I saw in those gay streets."

Loo glanced at him sharply. He had himself seen the same all through
those provinces which must take their cue from Paris whether they will
or no.

"What a career!" murmured Marvin. "What a mission for a man to have in
life--to save France! One does not like to think of the world without a
France to lead it in nearly everything, or with a France, a mere ghost
of her former self, exploited, depleted by another Bonaparte. And we
must look in vain for that man as did the good Duke years ago."

"I should like to have a shot at it," put in Sep, who had just
despatched a large piece of cake.

"Heaven forbid!" exclaimed his father, only half in jest.

"Better sit all day under the lee of a boat and make nets, like Sea
Andrew," advised Loo, with a laugh.

"Do you think so?" said Miriam, without looking up.

"All the same, I'd like to have a shot at it," persisted Sep. "Pass the
cake, please."

Loo had risen and was looking at the clock. His face was drawn and tired
and his eyes grave.

"You will come in and see us as often as you can while you are here?"
said the kindly rector, as if vaguely conscious of a change in
this visitor. "You will always find a welcome whether you come in a
coach-and-four or on foot--you know that."

"Thank you--yes. I know that."

The rector peered at him through his spectacles.

"I hope," he said, "that you will soon be successful in getting your
own. You are worried about it, I fear. The responsibilities of wealth,
perhaps. And yet many rich people are able to do good in the world, and
must therefore be happy."

"I do not suppose I shall ever be rich," said Loo, with a careless
laugh.

"No, perhaps not. But let us hope that all will be for the best. You
must not attach too much importance to what I said about France, you
know. I may be wrong. Let us hope I am. For I understand that your
heritage is there."

"Yes," answered Loo, who was shaking hands with Sep and Miriam, "my
heritage is there."

"And you will go back to France?" inquired Marvin, holding out his hand.

"Yes," was the reply, with a side glance in the direction of Miriam. "I
shall go back to France."

CHAPTER XXVIII. BAREBONE'S PRICE

At Farlingford, forgotten of the world, events move slowly and men's
minds assimilate change without shock. Old people look for death long
before it arrives, so that when at l