down upon the bed. "If I were
you, grandfather," she said almost in a whisper, "I would not trust
myself to alter family arrangements whilst I was ill. I'm sure you
would advise any one else against doing so."

"And if I were to leave it to Alice, she'd give it to him too," he
said, speaking his thoughts out loud. "What it is you see in him, I
never could even guess. He's as ugly as a baboon, with his scarred
face. He has never done anything to show himself a clever fellow.
Kate, give me some of that bottle the man sent." Kate handed him his
medicine, and then stood again by his bedside.

"Where did he get the money to pay for his election?" the Squire
asked, as soon as he had swallowed the draught. "They wouldn't give
such a one as him credit a yard further than they could see him."

"I don't know where he got it," said Kate, lying.

"He has not had yours; has he?"

"He would not take it, sir."

"And you offered it to him?"

"Yes, sir."

"And he has not had it?"

"Not a penny of it, sir."

"And what made you offer it to him after what I said to you?"

"Because it was my own," said Kate, stoutly.

"You're the biggest idiot that ever I heard of, and you'll know it
yourself some day. Go away now, and let me know when Gogram comes."

She went away, and for a time employed herself about her ordinary
household work. Then she sat down alone in the dingy old dining-room,
to think what had better be done in her present circumstances. The
carpet of the room was worn out, as were also the covers of the
old chairs and the horsehair sofa which was never moved from its
accustomed place along the wall. It was not a comfortable Squire's
residence, this old house at Vavasor. In the last twenty years no
money had been spent on furniture or embellishments, and for the last
ten years there had been no painting, either inside or out. Twenty
years ago the Squire had been an embarrassed man, and had taken a
turn in his life and had lived sparingly. It could not be said that
he had become a miser. His table was kept plentifully, and there had
never been want in his house. In some respects, too, he had behaved
liberally to Kate and to others, and he had kept up the timber and
fences on the property. But the house had become wretched in its
dull, sombre, dirty darkness, and the gardens round it were as bad.

What ought she now to do? She believed that her grandfather's last
days were coming, and she knew that others of the fam