thought you
would never----What is it? What has happened? Freddy! there is bad
news."

"Yes, very bad," says Monkton, sinking into a chair.

"Your brother----" breathlessly. Of late, she has always known that
trouble is to be expected from him.

"He is dead," says Monkton in a low tone.

Barbara, flinging her opera cloak aside, comes quickly to him. She leans
over him and slips her arms round his neck.

"Dead!" says she in an awestruck tone.

"Yes. Killed himself! Shot himself! the telegram came this morning when
I was with them. I could not come home sooner; it was impossible to
leave them."

"Oh, Freddy, I am sorry you left them even now; a line to me would have
done. Oh, what a horrible thing, and to die like that."

"Yes." He presses one of her hands, and then, rising, begins to move
hurriedly up and down the room. "It was misfortune upon misfortune," he
says presently. "When I went over there this morning they had just
received a letter filled with----"

"From him!"

"Yes. That is what seemed to make it so much worse later on. Life in the
morning, death in the afternoon!" His voice grows choked. "And such a
letter as it was, filled with nothing but a most scandalous account of
his----Oh!"----he breaks off suddenly as if shocked. "Oh, he is dead,
poor fellow."

"Don't take it like that," says Barbara, following him and clinging to
him. "You know you could not be unkind. There were debts then?"

"Debts! It is difficult to explain just now, my head is aching so; and
those poor old people? Well, it means ruin for them, Barbara. Of course
his debts must be paid, his honor kept intact, for the sake of the old
name, but--they will let all the houses, the two in town, this one, and
their own, and--and the old place down in Warwickshire, the home, all
must go out of their hands."

"Oh, Freddy, surely--surely there must be some way----"

"Not one. I spoke about breaking the entail. You know I--his death, poor
fellow. I----"

"Yes, yes, dear."

"But they wouldn't hear of it. My mother was very angry, even in her
grief, when I proposed it. They hope that by strict retrenchment, the
property will be itself again; and they spoke about Tommy. They said it
would be unjust to him----"

"And to you," quickly. She would not have him ignored any longer.

"Oh, as for me, I'm not a boy, you know. Tommy is safe to inherit as
life goes."

"Well, so are you," said she, with a sharp pang at her heart.

"Yes, of