st male relative,
the right to which was undisputed by Mr Goldsworthy, preoccupied with
the important interests of his new parish; also by Mr Thornycroft and
Jim Urquhart, who, of course, "stood by" to serve her as far as she
would allow them. It was Claud who gave the orders for the funeral, and
superintended the ceremonies, and acted as chief mourner; it was Claud
to whom the household looked for direction, as if acknowledging him to
be the new master; it was on Claud's breast that Deb wept--who so
rarely wept--and his word that she obeyed, as if he were already her
husband; and in all that he did for her, and in all that he did not do,
he showed the grace, the tact, the tenderness, the thoughtfulness of
her ideal lover and gentleman.

But there came a day when he fell again below the indispensable
standard--when the rift in the lute, that had seemed closed, gaped
suddenly, and this time beyond repair. It was when, after close
investigation of the deceased man's affairs, and some heated interviews
with one of the executors (Deb being the other), Claud discovered that
the Pennycuick wealth was non-existent--that Redford was mortgaged to
the hilt, and that if the estate was realised and cleared, as Deb
desired it should be, nothing would be left for her and her
sisters--that is to say, a paltry three or four hundred a year amongst
them, less than Deb could spend comfortably on her clothes alone.

He was too upset by the discovery, and a bad quarter of an hour that Mr
Thornycroft had subsequently given him, to preserve that calm demeanour
which was his study and his pride. He came in to Deb where she sat
alone, and expressed his feelings as the ordinary man is wont to do to
the woman who loves and belongs to him.

"What could your father have been dreaming of," he rudely interrogated
her, "to let the place go to pieces like this? Drifting behind year
after year, and doing nothing to stop it--not cutting down one of the
living expenses--not giving us the least hint of how things really
were--"

"He gave several hints," said Deb, in that voice which always grew so
portentously quiet when his was raised, "if we had had the sense to
take them. I have been putting two and two together for some time, so
that I am not altogether taken by surprise."

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"Because you were not here, for one thing. Because it was father's
private business, for another."

"He seems not to have made it his business to