abroad which might make his approaches to Maud seem unreasonable. That was an important consideration. But it sank into insignificance beside the enormous danger likely to arise from the concentration of public attention upon him at this time.

Here was his own mother, the one owner of remaining claims upon his better nature, imperilling his fortune—his neck. By advertising this sale, the eyes of all Daneford would be drawn to his mother, and the tongues of Daneford would be busy with his name. He himself did not know why his mother had resolved upon converting all she had in the world into cash, though he had an uneasy suspicion he could guess if he tried. His great dread was that his mother might do some incautious thing, take some incautious measure, in carrying out her design.

Suppose her action did not suggest examination of anything in connection with him, he would still be in a very uncomfortable position. Surely people would speak to him of the step his mother was about to take. What answer should he make? What explanation could he give? If anyone asked him why his mother was selling, he could not tell, for he did not know. It would soon be found out that, under the simple conditions of his father's will, his authority would be necessary to the sale. How could he justify so unwise an act on the part of his mother? How could he tell people he approved of it? And yet he must say he sanctioned it, otherwise people would think there was something wrong.

But even if he said he sanctioned it, would they not think there was something wrong? People would look first with amazement and then with suspicion at the sale of an old woman's annuity, house and furniture, when he, her childless and only son, was reputed to be enormously rich. What could induce a woman like Mrs. Grey to sell her house in her native town, and the chairs her husband had used, the table at which he had sat, the back drawing-room furniture given her by him as a birthday present after the coming of their only boy? Clearly nothing but want of money.

It would be known his mother and he had been on most affectionate terms all their lives. Why did not an affectionate son spare an affectionate mother the unpleasantness of a sale by giving her the paltry few thousands? Even if he was mean enough not to make her a present of them, he might advance them upon the security she had to offer. It could not be that mother and son had quarrelled; if that were so he would clearly refuse his assent. It could not be she was in difficulties while her son had money. The clear deduction, the only possible deduction left to the people of Daneford would be that the selling was with his, Wat's, full consent, and that the money was for him—for the Daneford Bank.

All this was quite clear to Grey; beyond it he durst not go. No, he would not allow his mind to look behind the curtain drawn across the remote future.

What should he do?

All night he lay awake, trying to solve that question. Morning came and found him without a solution.

He had recovered wonderfully. His mind was now clear and vigorous. He resolved not to go to the office this day. He could not face people without some answer to enquiries sure to be made, and he had not yet resolved upon the course he should pursue.

He spent the forenoon reading and writing letters. One he wrote to the Castle to Miss Midharst, announcing his return, and that he should call upon her next day. A second he addressed to his mother in the following terms:

"Mother,

"One last word. If you persist in attracting attention to my affairs, by selling out, the chances are I shall be ruined; and such ruin will be mine that I shall not face it, but leave people to discuss my conduct over my corpse."

He did not sign this note. He sent it by James, the stupid, purblind, discharged soldier, and bade him wait for an answer.

In an hour James returned with the answer. It was in a large envelope, a very large envelope. The reply must have been prepared in anticipation of the appeal. A reply so bulky must be a favourable one. If an adverse answer had to be given, it would be brief.

With trembling hands he broke the seal as soon as he was alone. He drew forth several documents. But the first that caught his eye was the smallest of all—his own letter returned unopened! Upon the envelope was written, in the unsteady hand of his mother, these words:

"Sign the enclosed papers. The signatures must be witnessed. They must be signed and with me before the sale. I have not opened your letter. I daresay it does not lie, but how could I be sure?"

His hand ceased to tremble. He put the unopened letter into his pocket with a firm deliberate hand, calmly took up the legal papers, perused them carefully, critically, and paused now and then to extract the sense from the legal jargon.

When he had finished reading he rang the bell. James answered it.

"James, is there any other man who can read and write about the place, besides you?"

"One of the clerks has just come with a message for you, sir."

"Ask him to step this way, please, and come yourself."

In a few minutes the clerk entered, followed by the servant.

"Glad to see you, Doughty. Got a message for me? Take a seat."

"Yes, sir. A message from Mr. Aldridge. This is it."

"Thank you. I want you, now that you have come so opportunely, to witness my signature to documents of importance. They concern the sale of my mother's annuity and property. I am sole surviving trustee to my father's will, and I am now about to sign these documents, authorising those sales. Stand up, Doughty, and look at me as I sign. James, come near. You are near-sighted. Closer still. Now!"

He signed, and they after him.

"That will do, James. It is exceedingly unlikely there will be any dispute. In case there should, all you have to remember is that I signed these papers in your presence, and you in mine, and in the presence of one another. I am not sure the last is necessary, but never mind. You need not trouble yourselves to remember all I have said about the matter contained in the papers. You may go now, James."

When the servant had retired he said to the clerk: "Thank you, Doughty. You came very luckily. I will ask you to take these documents back to Mrs. Grey's. Usually such matters reach one through an attorney, but I am sorry to say this is not a very ordinary or pleasant transaction. Leave the documents with Mrs. Grey. There is no answer. Then go back to the Bank, and ask Mr. Aldridge to come to me here this afternoon or evening. I shall not be in town to-morrow, and have something to communicate to him. This is the reply to the note you brought from him."

When the manager of the Daneford Bank arrived at the Manor House he was shown into the presence of the banker.

Grey received him with more of the old grave blandness than he had displayed for a long time.

"Aldridge," he said, "I am sorry I have a little bad news. It does not concern the Bank. It is worse than that. I wish to Heaven it did concern the Bank. We can bear reverses in business better than home troubles." He paused, with his eyes fixed on the ground, in deep thought.

Aldridge moved his chair closer to Grey's, to show he was giving his best attention. He did not speak.

"You can meet a business difficulty face to face; but you shrink from difficulties or unpleasantnesses which bring the names of those you love and honour into the public mouth."

It was plain to Aldridge Grey was weighing his words with the nicest care. The manager considered it better to preserve his silence still.

"I am going now," pursued Grey, "to place myself upon your honour——"

"I am sure you may do that," interrupted Aldridge with respectful emphasis. The respect in the emphasis was not that of employed to employer, but of sympathiser for a fellow-man, an esteemed fellow-man in trouble.

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