to come. It was in his blood. By this alone he kept at bay the
destroying forces that Time brought against him, his order, his
inheritance; by this alone he could continue to hand down that
inheritance to his son. And at the document which did hand it down he
looked with angry and resentful eyes.

Men who conceive great resolutions do not always bring them forth with
the ease and silence which they themselves desire. Mr. Pendyce went to
his bedroom determined to say no word of what he had resolved to do.
His wife was asleep. The Squire's entrance wakened her, but she
remained motionless, with her eyes closed, and it was the sight of that
immobility, when he himself was so disturbed, which drew from him the
words:

"Did you know that George was a gambler?"

By the light of the candle in his silver candlestick her dark eyes
seemed suddenly alive.

"He's been betting; he's sold his horse. He'd never have sold that horse
unless he were pushed. For all I know, he may be posted at Tattersalls!"

The sheets shivered as though she who lay within them were struggling.
Then came her voice, cool and gentle:

"All young men bet, Horace; you must know that!"

The Squire at the foot of the bed held up the candle; the movement had a
sinister significance.

"Do you defend him?" it seemed to say. "Do you defy me?"

Gripping the bed-rail, he cried:

"I'll have no gambler and profligate for my son! I'll not risk the
estate!"

Mrs. Pendyce raised herself, and for many seconds stared at her husband.
Her heart beat furiously. It had come! What she had been expecting all
these days had come! Her pale lips answered:

"What do you mean? I don't understand you, Horace."

Mr. Pendyce's eyes searched here and therefor what, he did not know.

"This has decided me," he said. "I'll have no half-measures. Until he
can show me he's done with that woman, until he can prove he's given up
this betting, until--until the heaven's fallen, I'll have no more to do
with him!"

To Margery Pendyce, with all her senses quivering, that saying, "Until
the heaven's fallen," was frightening beyond the rest. On the lips
of her husband, those lips which had never spoken in metaphors, never
swerved from the direct and commonplace, nor deserted the shibboleth of
his order, such words had an evil and malignant sound.

He went on:

"I've brought him up as I was brought up myself. I never thought to have
had a scamp for my son!"

Mrs. Pendyce's heart