flood of tears, and sobbed and cried like a
child."

"Mother!"

"He did, so that it was piteous to see him. But it did him good, for
he was better after it. And all the time he never let go my hand, but
held it and kissed it. And then he took me by the waist, and kissed
me, oh, so often. And all the while his tears were running like the
tears of a girl." And Lady Fitzgerald, as she told the story, could
not herself refrain from weeping.

"And did he say anything afterwards about this man?"

"Yes; not at first, that is. Of course I asked him who he was as soon
as I thought he could bear the question. But he turned away, and
merely said that he was a stupid man about some old London business,
and that he should have gone to Prendergast. But when, after a while,
I pressed him, he said that the man's name was Mollett, and that he
had, or pretended to have, some claim upon the city property."

"A claim on the city property! Why, it's not seven hundred a year
altogether. If any Mollett could run away with it all, that loss
would not affect him like that."

"So I said, Herbert; not exactly in those words, but trying to
comfort him. He then put it off by declaring that it was the
consciousness of his inability to see any one on business which
affected him so grievously."

"It was that he said to me."

"And there may be something in that, Herbert."

"Yes; but then what should make him so weak, to begin with? If you
remember, mother, he was very well,--more like himself than usual
last night."

"Oh, I observed it. He seemed to like having Clara Desmond there."

"Didn't he, mother? I observed that too. But then Clara Desmond is
such a sweet creature." The mother looked at her son as he said this,
but the son did not notice the look. "I do wonder what the real truth
can be," he continued. "Do you think there is anything wrong about
the property in general? About this estate, here?"

"No, I don't think that," said the mother, sadly.

"What can it be then?" But Lady Fitzgerald sat there, and did not
answer the question. "I'll tell you what I will do, mother; I'll go
up to London, and see Prendergast, and consult him."

"Oh, no; you mustn't do that. I am wrong to tell you all this, for he
told me to talk to no one. But it would kill me if I didn't speak of
it to you."

"All the same, mother, I think it would be best to consult
Prendergast."

"Not yet, Herbert. I dare say Mr. Prendergast may be a very good sort