heir if he'd lived. There's a picture of him
upstairs."

"And he died, did he?"

"Rather; but old Hodder--know old Hodder?"

"Hush!" said his companion; "the speeches are beginning."

"What a hung nuisance!" said Tom.

The oratorical interruption was a brief one. The Duke of Somewhere, as
the big man of the county, rose to propose the health of the heir of
Maxfield. They were glad to make their young neighbour's acquaintance,
and looked forward that day year to welcoming him to his own. They
hoped he'd be a credit to his name, and keep up the traditions of
Maxfield. He understood Mr Ingleton was pretty strictly tied up in the
matter of guardians--(laughter)--but from what he could see, he might be
worse off in that respect; and the county would owe their thanks to
those gentlemen if they turned out among them the right sort of man to
be Squire of Maxfield. He wished his young friend joy and long life and
many happy returns of the day.

Roger, rather pale and nervous, replied very briefly.

He thanked them for their good wishes, and said he hoped he might take
these as given not to the heir of Maxfield but to plain Roger Ingleton.
He was still an infant--("Hear, hear!" from Tom)--and was in no hurry to
get out of the charge of his guardians. Whatever his other expectations
might be, he felt that his best heritage was the name he bore; and he
hoped, as his noble neighbour had said, he should turn out worthy of
that.

As he sat down, flushed with his effort, and wondering what two persons
there would think of his feeble performance, his eye fell on the form of
Dr Brandram, who at that moment hurriedly entered the room.

He saw him whisper something to Armstrong, who changed colour and rose
from his seat. An intuition, quicker than a flash of lightning,
revealed to the boy that something was wrong--something in which he was
concerned. In a moment he stood with his two friends in the hall.

"Roger, my brave fellow, your mother has been taken seriously worse
within the last hour. Come and see her."

The boy staggered away dazed. He was conscious of the hum of voices,
with Tom's laugh above all, in the room behind; of the long curve of
carriage lights waiting in the garden without; of the trophy of flowers
and pampas on either side of the staircase. Then, as the doctor stepped
forward and softly opened a door, he followed like one in a dream.

For an hour the dull roll of carriages came and went on t