"He cheated me," said Osborn, with a savage frown. "The fellow's a

cunning rogue. I wish he hadn't come back--confound him!" He pulled

himself up and added: "However, about the mortgage. I suppose I must

agree to Fisher's terms. See him and arrange the thing as soon as

possible."

Hayes went away and Osborn lighted a cigar. He had a disturbing feeling

that he had been rash. The money would not last long and if he had not

borrowed it, he might have paid the interest on other loans. Buying the

sheep had really decided him to give the mortgage, since it had made him

feel keenly the embarrassment of having very little money at command.

There was another thing; Hayes wanted him to borrow the fresh sum,

although a prudent agent would try to keep the estate out of debt. He

could not see Hayes' object and felt suspicious, but while he pondered it

began to rain and he went into the house.

It rained all day and at dusk the mist had crept down the hills. The long

grass in the meadow bent before the deluge and slanted from the wind. The

becks began to roar in the gyhlls, and threads of foam glimmered in the

mist. A hoarse turmoil rose from the stream that fed the tarn, and an

angry flood, stained brown by peat, rose steadily up the dyke. There was

no promise of better weather when Osborn went to bed, and he had known

rain like that last for a week. In fact, he had known all the hay crop

and the most part of the young turnips washed down the valley.

The rain was heavier when, early next morning, Kit went out to move some

sheep from a spot where the rising water might cut them off. He came back

along the meadow dyke and stopped for a few minutes when he reached its

weakest place. Reeds and tufts of heather whirled down the brown flood.

Wide patches of turf and soil had fallen away, uncovering the foundation

of boulders and gravel, and while Kit looked down a heavy stone rolled

out of its place and plunged into the stream. Others were ready to go;

the water was rising ominously fast and would rise for some time after

the rain stopped. There was, however, nothing to indicate that it would

stop, and Kit, knowing his native climate, looked about with some

uneasiness.

A hollow across the meadow to a hedge, behind which were two large turnip

fields, and he knew this marked a former channel of the beck. It was long

since the water had flowed that way, but his father had told him that in

heavy floods it had some times spread across the fields and joined the

other stream at Allerby. If this happened again, the bottom of the dale

would be covered and the crops ruined. When he was going away, three or

four men with picks and spades came up.

"Are you going to mend the dyke?" he asked.

"We're gan to try," said one. "I reckon we'll not can hoad her up if beck

rises much."

"She'll rise three or four feet," said Kit. "Is nobody else coming?"

"Neabody we ken aboot. Mr. Osborn sent to Allerby first thing, but miller

wadn't let him have a man."

Kit thought hard. Bell had given up the mill and his successor had a

dispute with Hayes. To repair the dyke properly would be a long and

expensive business, since there were a number of weak spots, but a dozen

men, working hard, might perhaps strengthen the threatened part

sufficiently to bear the strain. Clearly, if they were to be of use, they

must be found and set to work at once. In a sense, the risk was Osborn's,

who would pay for his neglect, but the flood might damage his tenants'

fields, and even if the damage were confined to Osborn's, Kit hated to

see crops spoiled.

"You had better begin," he said. "I'll try to get help."

"Mayhappen folks will come for you, though they wadn't for t' maister,"

one replied. "We'll need aw you can get before lang."

Kit set off as fast as he could walk and, stopping for a minute at

Ashness, sent his men. Then he went on to Allerby and at first found

the farmers unwilling to move, but after some argument they went with

him to the mill.

"We'll hear what miller has to say," one remarked. "He kens maist aboot

the job, sin' he had t' mend t' lade when Hayes refused. For aw that,

mending dyke is landlord's business."

"I'll not stir a hand to save Osborn's crops," the miller declared when

he met them at the door. "His oad rogue o' an agent promised me he'd

build up brocken lade, but when time came I had to do't mysel'."

Two of the others grumbled about promises Hayes had not kept, and then

Kit said, "All this is not important. I don't ask you to mend the dyke

for Osborn's sake but yours. If the beck breaks through and runs down to

Allerby, it will spoil all the hay and fill the mill-lead with rubbish."

"Then we'll get compensation. Landlord's bound to keep dyke in order."

Kit smiled. "You'll get nothing, unless you go to law and I don't know if

you'll get much then. Hayes is clever and the dispute would be expensive.

You'll certainly find it cheaper to mend the dyke."

They pondered this, until the miller made a sign of agreement.

"I'll not can say you're wrang. I'm coming with my two men."

Kit told him to bring a horse and cart and the party set off for the

threatened bank. The beck had risen while Kit was away and stones and

soil slipped down into the flood. An angry turmoil indicated that the

current had rolled the rubbish into a dam.

"We've gotten our job," said the miller as he drove in his spade.

They got to work, but the current that undermined the bank brought down

the turf and soil with which they tried to fill the holes. It was plain

that a stronger material was needed and Kit sent some men to a

roadmaker's quarry at the bottom of the fell while he rearranged some

harness. When he had finished he fastened an extra horse outside the

shafts of the carts and two men drove the teams across the field. They

went off fast, jolting the carts by their clumsy trot, but Kit knew the

extra horse would be needed when they returned. Soon afterwards, Osborn

came up the other bank and stopped opposite with the rain running off his

mackintosh.

"Has anybody given you leave to meddle with the dyke?" he asked.

"No," said Kit. "We'll let it alone, if you like, but there won't be much

of your hay left when the flood breaks through, and I imagine you could

be made responsible for other damage."

Osborn hesitated and Kit, seeing his frown, began to wonder whether he

would send him away. Then he resumed: "Who engaged these men?"

"I don't know that they are engaged. Anyhow, if there's a difficulty

about their getting paid, I'm accountable."

"Bring them to Tarnside when you have finished," Osborn answered

and went off.

Kit resumed his work with savage energy. He thought Osborn did not

deserve to be helped, but this did not matter much. Others would suffer

unless he finished the job he had undertaken and it almost looked as if

the flood would beat him. The trench from which they dug the soil they

needed filled with water, the spades got slippery with rain and mud,

and the horses sank in the trampled slough. Kit, however, had made his

plans while he looked for help and had forgotten nothing that he might

want. Hammers, drills, and a can of powder had been brought, and now

and then a dull report rolled across the dale and heavy stones crashed

in the quarry.

When he had stone enough he and one or two others stood on the front of

the bank with the water washing round their legs while they built up the

ragged blocks. The pieces were hard to fit and sometimes the rude wall

broke when the men on top threw down the backing of soil. Kit tore his

hand on a sharp corner, but persisted while the blood ran down his

fingers and his wet clothes stuck to his skin. The others supported him

well and he only stopped for breath and to wipe from his eyes the water

that trickled off his soaked hat. The loaded cart, ploughing through the

mire, met the other going back; the men at the quarry kept him supplied,

and when he had made a foundation the bank began to rise. For all that,

the beck rose almost as fast, and at noon they had not gained much on the

flood. Kit was doubtful, but on the whole thought it prudent to let the

men stop. They had worked hard and could not keep it up without a rest.

When they collected with their dinner cans under a dripping hedge, one

remarked: "Mayhappen we'd better wait for Osborn to send cold meat and

ale. I'll mak' a start with bread and cheese."

The others grinned, but Kit got up as he heard a rattle of wheels. "Don't

begin just yet. Two of you go to the gate."

The men came back with a big jar and a basket, and the others gathered

round when Kit took off the clean, wet cloth.

"Yon lunch niver came fra Tarnside; it's ower good and liberal," said

one. "Ashness folk dinna believe in sending a half-empty jar."

When they had eaten and drunk, one or two tried to light their pipes but

gave it up and they got to work again. Kit's hand hurt; it was long since

he had undertaken much manual labor, and his muscles felt horribly stiff.

He knew, however, that the men needed a leader, not a superintendent, and

he would not urge them to efforts he shirked. And a leader was all they

needed. They had no liking for Osborn, but they were stubborn and now

they had begun they meant to finish. Shovels clinked, stones rattled from

the carts, and the pile of earth and rock rose faster than the flood.

In the meantime the mist got thicker and the rain swept the valley. The

long grass near the trench was trodden into pulp where the turf was cut,

the surface of the bank melted, and the men stumbled as they climbed it

with their loads. The wheelbarrows poured down water as well as sticky

soil, and Kit's clothes got stiff with mud. Despite this, he held out

until, in the evening, the strengthened dyke stood high above the stream.

Then he threw down his spade and stretched his aching arms.

"I think she'll hold the water back and we can do no more," said Kit.

The others gathered up their tools and climbing into the carts drove down

the dale. When they reached the Tarnside lodge Kit pulled up.

"You have done a good job for Osborn and there's no reason you shouldn't

get your pay," he said.

Two or three jumped down, without much enthusiasm, and the old gardener

came out and gave one an envelope.

"For Mr. Askew," he remarked.

"Is that all?" the other asked, and the gardener grinned.

"That's all. What did you expect?"

The man took the envelope to Kit and the rest waited with some curiosity.

They were very tired and big drops fell on them as the wind shook the

dripping trees. Kit opened the envelope and his face flushed as he took

out a note addressed to Hayes.

"Pay C. Askew and the men whose names follow one day's wages, on estate

account," it ran.

This was all and the sum noted at the bottom represented the lowest

payment for unskilled labor. Kit handed the note to his companions and

while some laughed ironically two or three swore.

"Next time beck's in flood Osborn can mend his dyke himsel'," said one.

"If five minutes' digging wad save Tarnside Hall, I'd sooner lose my hay

than stir a hand!"

Then they got into the carts, and drove off in the rain.

CHAPTER V

KIT TELLS A STORY

The rain stopped at night, the next day was fine, and in the afternoon

Kit went up the dale to look at the mended dyke. It had stood better

than he had thought, the beck was falling, and Osborn's fields were safe

until another flood came down. Kit did not know if he was pleased or

not. There was some satisfaction in feeling that he had done a good job,

but he did not think Osborn deserved the help his neighbors had given.

Following the dyke until he came to the road, he sat down on the bridge

and lighted his pipe.

The sun was hot and he was glad of the shade of a big alder whose leaves

rustled languidly overhead. The bent-grass on the hillside shone a warm

yellow, wet rocks glittered like silver in the strong light, and the

higher slopes, where belts of green moss checkered the heather, were

streaked by lines of snowy foam. All was very quiet, except for the noise

of running water and the joyous notes of a lark. Kit was not much of a

philosopher; action was easier to him than abstract thought, but he

vaguely felt that the serenity of the dale was marred by human passion.

Man was, no doubt, meant to struggle, but Nature was his proper

antagonist, and while the fight against floods and snow was bracing, one

gained nothing by shabby quarrels that sprang from pride and greed.

Kit was human, however, and owned that he had felt savage when he read

Osborn's note. The fellow had meant to humiliate him, and he got hot

again as he thought about it. Moreover, Osborn had, so to speak, for his

sake, insulted the men he had persuaded to help. They had not worked for

wages, when they fought the swollen beck, and some kindly acknowledgment,

such as a supper at the hall, would have gone far to gain for Osborn a

good will that money could not buy. Anyhow, since he offered pay, the sum

ought to have been a just reward for their toil.

Osborn had been led by personal rancor, and there was no use in Kit's

pretending he did not resent it. The fellow seemed to think he had a

right to command, and got savage when people would not obey. Kit felt he

had done nothing to deserve his hatred, but since Osborn did hate him, he

must brace himself for a struggle, and he meant to win. Then, as he

knocked out his pipe, he saw Grace.

For a few moments Kit hesitated. If Grace knew how Osborn had rewarded

him, the meeting might be awkward, but there was nothing to be gained by

putting it off. He meant to marry Grace, whether Osborn approved or not,

and to some extent frankness was needful. He waited until she reached the

bridge and got up when she stopped. There was some color in her face, but

she gave him a steady look.

"I have been to see the mended dyke," she said, and he knew that she

had pluck.

"It's a rough job. There was no time to finish it neatly."

"I'm surprised you were able to finish it at all."

"I mustn't claim all the credit," Kit rejoined, smiling. "There were a

number of others as well as the Tarnside men."

Grace made an impatient gesture. "Our men could have done nothing useful

if they had been left alone, and the others wouldn't have helped if you

had not persuaded them. Why did you?"

"To some extent, my object was selfish. If the flood had broken through,

it might have done much damage to all the crops, besides your father's."

"It could not have damaged yours."

"Oh, well," said Kit, "I hate to see things spoiled, and am afraid I'm

meddlesome."

Grace's color rose, but she fixed her eyes on him. "That is not kind; I

hardly think it's just. I have not accused you of meddling."

"No," said Kit; "I'm sorry! It was a stupid remark. But I expect you know

what your father thinks."

Grace was silent for a few moments. She did know and would rather not

have met Kit, but was too proud to turn back. Besides, she felt her

father was prejudiced, and although it was a family tradition that the

Osborns stood together, she rebelled and wanted to be just. The situation

was embarrassing, but there was no use in pretense.

"I think you were generous and imagine my mother agrees," she said. "She

wanted to send some lunch to the beck, but the rain was very heavy and

there was nobody to go." Then, remembering something Osborn had said, she

hesitated. "I understand your helpers were paid."

"Oh, yes," said Kit, not with malice, but because he saw he must be

frank. "I was not left out."

Grace turned her head. This was worse than she had thought. She was

angry, and would not let Kit think she approved. Her eyes sparkled as she

looked up. "Ah," she said, "you deserved something very different! I wish

you had not told me!"

"I didn't tell you because I was hurt," Kit replied with grave

quietness. "It looks as if we had got to face things. Your father thinks

me his enemy. I'm not; I have never tried to injure him, and if the dyke

was threatened by another flood, I believe I'd mend it. But, whatever

happens, I mean to do what I think proper, and it's possible we may

clash again."

"Yes," said Grace. "I am afraid this may happen."

"Well, I value your friendship and don't mean to give it up, but I can't

pretend, and think you wouldn't be deceived if I tried."

"You mean you would not do what you thought was shabby in order to

avoid a clash?"

"I mean something like that. Now you know how things are, you must

choose your line. I can't judge how far your duty to your parents binds

you; you can."

Grace felt her heart beat and was silent for a moment or two.

"I cannot criticize my father's deeds and agree with people who are

opposed to him," she said. "All the same, unless he expressly orders it,

I cannot give up my friends."

Kit tried to hide his satisfaction. "We'll let it go; I understand!"

He expected her to move away, and wondered whether it was tactful for him

to stop, but to his surprise she smiled and sat down on the bridge.

"Very well. Suppose we talk about something else? The shade is nice, and

I need not go home yet. You promised to tell me about your adventures and

your uncle. I think you called him a survival from the old romantic days

when the pirates haunted the Gulf of Mexico."

Kit pondered as he leaned against the alder trunk. He thought Grace meant

to banish the strain; anyhow, she was willing to stay and he wanted her

to do so. It was strangely pleasant to loiter on the bridge with her

while the shadows trembled on the road and the beck murmured in the

shade. But if he meant to keep her, he must talk, and although he did

not want to say much about his adventures he had a story to tell. The

story was moving, if he could tell it properly.

"I'm not clever at drawing a portrait, but I'd like to try," he said.

"For one thing, my subject's worth the effort; and then, you see, I was

fond of Adam. In some ways, he was not romantic; in fact, he was

remarkably practical. His bold strokes were made deliberately, after

calculating the cost; but now and then one got a hint of something

strangely romantic and in a sense extravagant. Yet human nature's

curious. When he played out a losing game, knowing he would lose, it was

not from sentimental impulse but a firm persuasion it was worth while."

He paused, and gave Grace an apologetic glance. "I'm afraid this is

rather foggy. Perhaps I'd better begin where I met him, at a Florida

hotel--if I'm not boring you."

Grace said she was not bored and Kit, gaining confidence, narrated how

they bumped the _Rio Negro_ across the surf-swept shoals, landed the

guns, and met Alvarez. His own part in their adventures was lightly

indicated, but the girl's imagination supplied what he left out. She felt

strangely interested as Kit's portrait of his uncle grew into shape,

although her thoughts dwelt largely on the artist. Then the

background--the steamy swamp, old presidio, and dazzling town--had a

romantic fascination, and when he told her about the journey to the

mission and the church where the candles that Adam sent burned before the

Virgin's shrine, her eyes shone.

"Ah," she said, "I am glad you told me! One thinks better of human nature

after hearing a tale like that. In a way, it's a rebuke. Are such men

numerous?"

"I have known two. Perhaps it's a coincidence that both were my

relations. They're commoner than people think."

"You're an optimist, but one likes optimists," Grace remarked with a

gentle smile. "However, what had the president done to deserve the

sacrifice your uncle made?"

"I never knew, but suspect it was something against the laws of his

country. If I told my story properly, you would understand that both were

buccaneers."

"But they had their code! I like the president and your uncle was very

fine. One feels moved when one thinks about the shabby little altar and

the candles love had lighted that never went out--all those years! Adam's

wife loved him. She went to nurse him, although her friends warned her

and she knew the risk."

Grace mused for a time and Kit thought her face disturbed. Then she

looked up quietly.

"One needs courage to know the risk and not to hesitate. But you will

keep those candles burning?"

"Yes," said Kit, "I promised. Besides, I like to think they're burning.

It means something."

"It means much," Grace agreed, and after a pause resumed: "You had no

doubt about taking up your uncle's engagement with the president,

although you saw what it might cost?"

"Of course not," Kit replied. "There was nothing else to be done."

Grace smiled and got up. "No," she said, "there was nothing else you

could do. Well, I must go home."

Kit went back with her for some distance. They talked but little on the

way, but when she left him she gave him her hand and a look that made his

heart beat.

Soon after Grace reached Tarnside, Osborn crossed the lawn to the

tea-table where she and Mrs. Osborn sat beneath a spreading copper-beech.

His face was thoughtful when Mrs. Osborn gave him a cup.

"I met the post as I was driving home," he said. "There's a letter

from Gerald."

"Has he any news?" Mrs. Osborn asked.

"Nothing important. He's well and says he's kept occupied, which is

fortunate. In fact, the harder they work him, the better; I'd sooner

Gerald did not have much time on his hands."

"Then, why did he write?" Grace asked, because Gerald's letters were by

no means regular.

"I hope he did not want money," Mrs. Osborn remarked.

"No," said Osborn. "That is, he did not want it for himself." He

hesitated, and then resumed: "He states that if I could raise a moderate

sum, he knows how we could make a very satisfactory profit in a short

time. It seems he has got a useful hint."

Grace laughed. "About a racehorse? Gerald is always hopeful, but his

confidence in his ability to spot the winner is dangerous. It has been so

often misplaced."

"This has nothing to do with racing," Osborn rejoined angrily. "Gerald

knows the consequences of indulging his folly again. There's a difference

between betting and buying shares."

"I don't know if the difference is very marked," said Grace, with a

curious feeling of annoyance, for there was a note in Osborn's voice that

jarred. He was, like Gerald, a gambler, greedy for money he had not

earned, and she thought about the story Kit had told. Its hero had risked

and lost his life, and Kit had paid in health and fortune, because they

put honor before gain. For all that, she knew she had said enough when

she saw Osborn's frown.

"Gerald is young, but he holds a responsible post and has opportunities

of meeting important stock-brokers and business men," Osborn went on,

turning to his wife. "He is, of course, optimistic and has been rash, but

after all he may have found out something useful. He declares the

venture is absolutely safe."

"But you have no money to invest," Mrs. Osborn insisted anxiously.

"As a matter of fact, I have some. You see, I borrowed a sum not long

since on Ryecote."

"Oh!" said Mrs. Osborn, with a resigned gesture, and then braced herself.

"But if you have got the money, it ought not to be used for speculation.

There is much that needs to be done on the estate."

"That is so; it was my reason for borrowing. All the same, it would be a

very long time before I got back what I meant to spend on drains and

steadings. Besides, the repairs and improvements need not be made just

yet, and I might be able to use the money and earn a good profit first."

"You might lose it all," Mrs. Osborn insisted. "Gerald is rash and

business men don't tell young bank-clerks important secrets. Then,

although it was a shock to hear you had mortgaged Ryecote, the money is

so badly needed that it must not be risked." She paused and resumed with

some color in her face, "It is hard to own, but perhaps Gerald is not

altogether to be trusted."

Osborn moved abruptly. His wife had touched the doubt that made him

hesitate; in fact, this was a matter upon which he wanted her advice. She

knew her son and had judged right when Osborn had been deceived.

"Well," he said, knitting his brows, "I haven't quite decided. I had

thought about asking for particulars, but after all Gerald's hint may not

be worth much and unless one is really well informed speculation is

dangerous."

He looked round and saw Thorn. The latter had come up without disturbing

the group and now joined them with a smile.

"I heard your last remark," he said. "My opinion is your views are

sound. It is very rash to speculate on shares you don't know much about."

Mrs. Osborn felt disturbed, because she wondered how much he had heard,

but he went on carelessly: "Gerald's too young for one to trust his

judgment. My advice is, leave the thing alone."

Grace gave him a grateful glance. She did not like Alan Thorn, but he was

cautious and she saw that Osborn was hesitating. It would not need much

persuasion to move him one way or the other, and she felt that to let

Gerald have the money would be a dangerous mistake.

"You really think I had better keep out of it?" Osborn asked.

"Certainly," said Thorn. "Only a few of the big jobbers can form an

accurate notion how prices ought to go. For people like us speculation is

a plunge in the dark."

Osborn was silent for a few moments, but Grace saw that he was pulled in

different ways by caution and greed. Then, to her relief, he made a sign

of agreement.

"Oh, well! I'll let the thing alone."

Thorn sat down and when Mrs. Osborn had given him some tea they talked

about other matters. Presently Grace got up and he walked with her

across the lawn.

"Were you satisfied with the advice I gave your father?" he asked.

"Yes," said Grace frankly. "I think he was tempted; I was glad you came."

"After all, a hint that he'd better be prudent did not cost me much. You

know I'd do more than that to help you."

"You did all that was necessary," Grace replied. "You have my thanks."

Thorn glanced at her keenly, but there was something chilling in her

calm.

"Well, I'm going to London in a day or two and it might be advisable to

look Gerald up. I will, if you like."

"Yes," said Grace. "If it doesn't give you much trouble."

She left him and Thorn stood still, frowning. Grace was always like

that, friendly but elusive. No matter how he tried, he could not break

down her reserve.

CHAPTER VI

THORN MAKES A PLAN

Thorn went up to town and one evening loitered about the hall of his

club. London rather bored him, but he went there now and then, because he

felt one ought to keep in touch with things. It was, in a sense, one's

duty to know what was going on, and the news he picked up helped him to

look well informed. Thorn had not much imagination, but he was cautious,

calculating, and generally saw where his advantage lay. His small estate

was managed well, in general his tenants liked him, and his investments

were sound. Nevertheless, he was dissatisfied; he had waited long for

Grace Osborn, and feared that in spite of her father's approval he got no

nearer her.

Alan Thorn was not romantic but his love for Grace was, to some extent, a

generous emotion. He knew Osborn's poverty, and it was plain that if he

married Grace he might have to help him out of his embarrassments. He was

fond of money and had grounds for imagining that the daughter of a rich

neighbor would not refuse him; but he wanted Grace and saw he could not

wait much longer. He was fastidious about his clothes, and their color

and loose cut prevented people remarking that he was getting fat; his

dark hair was carefully brushed. He knew, however, that he was getting

heavier fast and that he would soon be bald.

He had meant to go out, but had no particular object and the streets were

hot; besides, after the quiet country, he liked the bustle in the hall.

People were beginning to come in and one could see the crowd stream past

the glass doors. Sitting down in a corner he began to muse. Although he

had been in town some time, he had not seen Gerald. He had called at the

latter's lodgings and found him not at home, while when he went to the

bank he was told that Gerald had been sent to manage a small branch

office. Thorn thought it strange that Osborn had said nothing about this

and wondered whether he knew. Gerald was extravagant and much less frank

than he looked; he might have had an object for hiding his promotion.

Thorn understood that Osborn made him some allowance, but it was hard to

see how the young man was able to belong to his rather expensive club.

After a time, Gerald came in and glanced at two or three men who stood

about. At first, Thorn imagined he was looking for him, but saw he was

not. Gerald went into the telephone box close by and shut the door with a

jerky movement. It jarred and then swung back a few inches as if the

shock had jolted the spring. Thorn, whose curiosity was excited, listened

and heard the number Gerald asked for. Then he heard him say:

"Yes--Osborn! Is that Sanderson? Yes--I said _Ermentrudes_. Any chance

of a recovery? What--none at all? Can't hear--oh, sell at once!

Margin's gone."

Next moment Gerald obviously saw that the door was open, for he banged it

noisily and Thorn heard nothing more. He had, however, heard enough to

give him food for thought and waited until Gerald came out. The young man

stood still with his mouth firmly set and his eyes fixed on the wall as

if he saw nobody. His clothes were in the latest fashion, but the look of

fastidious languidness that generally marked him had gone. Turning

abruptly, he went up the stairs, and Thorn entered the telephone box and

opened the directory. When he came out he went up to a man he knew.

"Can you tell me anything about Short and Sanderson, stockbrokers?"

he asked.

"Not much," said the other. "They're outside brokers. I imagine they're

trustworthy, but it's better to do business through a member of the

Exchange. You'll find it a good rule."

"Thank you," said Thorn, who went upstairs to the smoking-room and found

Gerald sitting in front of a table, with a newspaper that dealt with

financial matters.

"Hallo!" said Thorn. "I have been expecting you for some days. I suppose

you got my message?"

Gerald looked up and his smile was strained. "I did, but have been much

engaged. Sit down and join me in a drink."

"What have you ordered?" Thorn asked, and shrugged when Gerald told him.

"That goes better after dinner. I'd sooner have something cool and

light."

"Oh, well," said Gerald. "I felt I needed bracing. The fact is, I've had

a knock--"

He stopped as a waiter came up and said nothing until the man had gone.

Then he drained his glass and turned to Thorn.

"I'm in a hole. Can you lend me two thousand pounds?"

Thorn hid his surprise. He thought urgent need had forced Gerald to make

his blunt request; it was not his way to plunge at things like that.

"You asked your father for a smaller sum."

"They told you about my letter? Well, things have changed since; changed

for the worse."

"They must have changed rather quickly," Thorn remarked, for his

suspicion was excited and he thought he saw a light. Gerald had been

embarrassed when he wrote to Osborn, and had not wanted the money to

invest but to help him to escape the consequences of some extravagance.

"That has nothing to do with it," Gerald rejoined. "Will you let me have

the money? You can, if you like."

"To begin with, you had better tell me why you want so large a sum."

Gerald hesitated and his eyelids twitched nervously, but he pulled

himself together and Thorn wondered how far he would stick to the truth.

He knew Gerald and did not trust him.

"Very well; I bought some shares. There was good ground for expecting

they'd go up--"

"They went down? When did you buy?"

"Your meaning's plain," said Gerald sullenly. "If you insist, it was

before I wrote home."

"I suspected something like that. However, you have the shares and they

may go up again."

"I haven't got the shares. I bought on a margin, and the margin's gone."

"Then, you're rasher than I thought," Thorn rejoined with a searching

look. "Well, you have lost your money and it's something of a surprise to

hear you had so much. Anyhow, it was yours, and although the loss is

serious, I don't understand how you're embarrassed."

"I borrowed," said Gerald, rather hoarsely. "You can wait; the other

fellow won't. Then, of course, if I renewed the margin, the shares might

recover and put me straight."

Thorn pondered. Gerald's statement was plausible, but he doubted if he

had told him all.

"Two thousand pounds is a large sum," he said. "I don't know yet if I can

lend it you."

Gerald gave him a steady look. His face was haggard and the sweat ran

down his forehead. It was obvious that he was desperate.

"If you hope to marry my sister, you had better help me out."

"I haven't much ground for thinking your sister will agree," Thorn

rejoined with some dryness. "Anyhow, it's doubtful if your influence

would go far with her, if that is what you mean."

"It is not what I mean," Gerald answered in a hoarse voice. "I have given

you a useful hint. You can spare two thousand pounds, and if you let me

have the money, you'll be glad you did."

"I must think about it. You can call me up on the telephone at noon

to-morrow."

Gerald hesitated, and then made an abrupt movement as a man came into the

room. The latter crossed the floor and Gerald got up.

"Very well," he said, and went off.

Soon after Gerald had gone, the man Thorn had met in the hall came in and

he asked: "Do you know anything about _Ermentrudes_, Norton? I suppose

they're mining shares?"

"I wouldn't advise you to invest," the other replied. "The company has

seldom paid a dividend, but not long since a rumor got about that a new

shaft had bottomed on rich ore." He paused and shrugged. "Nobody knows

how such tales are started, but they appeal to optimistic outsiders who

like to think they've got a secret tip. Anyhow, there was some reckless

buying by people who expected developments at the shareholders' meeting.

They were disappointed, and are knocking prices down by their anxiety to

sell out."

Thorn thanked him and began to think. He wondered where Gerald had

managed to get two thousand pounds, since he imagined that nobody would

lend him the sum. He did not know much about banking, but it was possible

that Gerald had used his employers' money, hoping to replace it before he

was found out. Then, since two thousand pounds, used for a margin, would

cover a large number of shares, it looked as if Gerald had lost part of

the sum by previous speculations. While he pondered, the man whose entry

had seemed to disturb Gerald came to his table and sat down opposite.

"You obviously know young Osborn," he remarked.

Thorn said nothing for a moment or two. Hallam was not a public

money-lender, but sometimes negotiated private loans for extravagant

young men about town. One meets such people now and then at smart London

clubs, and Thorn imagined the fellow could throw some light on Gerald's

difficulties.

"We come from the same neighborhood," he replied.

"His father is a large landowner, I believe?"

"He has some land," said Thorn, who began to see his way. He had not yet

decided to help Gerald, but if he did, his help must be made as valuable

as possible. "The rents are low and the estate is encumbered," he

resumed. "On the whole, I don't think you would consider it good

security."

"Thank you for the hint. Osborn looked as if he had got a jar."

"I think he had. He bought some shares that have gone down sharply, and

since he's a bank-clerk I expect the loss is a serious thing for him."

Hallam nodded carelessly. "No doubt! Do you know a man called Askew?"

"I know something about him. He owns a farm in the dale and has recently

spent some money on improvements, although it's doubtful if he'll get

much return. I can't tell you if he has any more or not, but imagine he's

not worth your bothering about. Besides, he's not the man I'd expect to

get into debt."

"Mr. Askew has not been trying to borrow," Hallam answered with a smile.

"Well, I promised to meet a friend and mustn't stop."

He went away and Thorn sat still, pondering. The other men went out by

and by and the room was quiet except for the rumble of traffic in the

street and the rattle of an electric fan. A waiter pulled down a blind

to shut out a bright sunbeam and Thorn found the shade and softened

noises from outside helpful to thought.

Gerald had used money belonging to the bank and borrowed from Hallam in

order to pay it back; although Thorn could not see what had persuaded the

latter to lend. It was strange, certainly, that Hallam had inquired about

Askew, but in the meantime he could let this go. Gerald was threatened by

a danger money could avert, and Thorn could help. If he did help, it

would give him a claim to Osborn's gratitude, although he could not tell

how far this would influence Grace. The Osborns cherished the

old-fashioned traditions of their class, and anything that touched one

touched all. Grace, however, was modern and rebellious, and Thorn knew

she did not like him much. He was not afraid to risk his money, but he

must not waste an opportunity he might not get again, and the opportunity

could be used in one of two ways.

He could free Gerald from his entanglements and, using no pressure, leave

her parents' gratitude to work on Grace. This was the proper line and

would enable him to play a generous part; had he been younger, he would

not have hesitated, but he saw a risk. He was beginning to look old and

unless Grace married him soon, must give her up. The other line, although

not attractive, promised greater security. Before he helped he must state

his terms and force Osborn to agree. Grace could not struggle, because

her refusal would involve the family in Gerald's disgrace. Thorn saw the

plan had drawbacks, but Grace was young and, if he indulged and petted

her, she would, no doubt, get to like him and forget his hardness. He had

heard of marriages made like this that turned out happily.

For a time he sat with his brows knitted and his mouth set. He would have

liked to be generous, but he loved the girl and could not force himself

to run the risk of losing her. Nevertheless, he honestly tried, and

afterwards remembered with strange distinctness the soft rattle of the

electric fan and the dull roll of traffic that throbbed in the quiet room

while he fought the losing fight. The sunbeam the waiter had shut out

crept on to another window and shone on the fluted pillars before he got

up. His face was very hard, for he had chosen his line and knew he must

take it without doubt or pity.

Going down to the hall, he called up Gerald's branch bank. A clerk who

was working late replied that Mr. Osborn had gone.

"I know," said Thorn, giving his name. "Make a note to tell him he need

not call on me to-morrow. I find I am unable to do what he requires."

"Very well," said the clerk. "I'll give him the message in the morning."

Thorn rang the bell and, leaving the box, asked for a railway guide.

There was nothing to be gained by stopping in London and he looked up the

best train for the north.

CHAPTER VII

GERALD'S RETURN

Thorn went home and waited, confident that Osborn would presently send

for him. The estate was heavily mortgaged, Osborn had no rich friends,

and when the blow fell would look to Thorn for the aid nobody else could

give. In the meantime, Osborn, enjoying a short relief from financial

strain, squandered in personal extravagance part of the sum he had

borrowed, and then set drainers, carpenters, and builders to work. He

liked spending and now tried to persuade himself that the money he was

laying out would give him some return. It ought to last until he had

finished the renovations his tenants demanded, and although difficulties

might arise afterwards, he would wait until they did. Indeed, his wife

and daughter found him better humored than he had been for long.

Then, one evening when the hay was harvested and the corn was ripening,

his satisfaction was rudely banished. Grace had gone to the lodge with a

message and stopped for a few minutes by the gate. The evening was calm

and one side of the placid tarn glittered in the light; the other was

dark, and soft blue shadows covered the fells behind. She heard the

languid splash of ripples on the stones and the murmur of a beck in a

distant ghyll. A strange restful tranquillity brooded over the dale.

Grace felt the calm soothing, for her thoughts were not a little

disturbed. She had met Thorn in the afternoon and noted a puzzling change

in his manner. So far, she had been able to check his cautious advances,

but she now remarked a new confidence that seemed to indicate he had some

power in reserve. She admitted that she might have imagined this, but it

troubled her.

Afterwards she had met Kit and the comfort the meeting gave her had

forced her to think. Their friendship had gone far; in fact, it had

reached a point friendship could not pass. Kit was not yet her lover, but

she thought he waited for a sign that she would acknowledge him when he

made his claim. She liked Kit; she had not met a man she liked so much.

This, however, did not imply that she was willing to marry him. Although

she now and then rebelled against conventions, she had inherited some of

Osborn's prejudices, and her mother sprang from old-fashioned land-owning

stock. Kit belonged to another class; the life he led was different. She

had been taught to enjoy cultivated idleness, broken by outdoor sports

and social amusements; but Kit was a worker, farming for money and

resolved to make his efforts pay. His wife must help and Grace did not

know if this daunted her or not.

Moreover, if she married Kit, she must quarrel with her parents. She knew

what Osborn thought about him. Had she been sure she loved Kit, the

choice would have been easier, but although she blushed as she mused,

this was too much to own. Yet he loved her, and after all--

She let the matter go and looked up, for there were steps in the shadowy

road. Then a figure came into the fading light, and she started and ran

to the gate.

"Gerald!" she exclaimed. "Why have you come home?"

"Somehow you don't feel flattered when people ask you why you came,"

Gerald rejoined with a forced smile. "It rather indicates surprise than

satisfaction."

"I am surprised," Grace admitted, trying to hide her vague alarm. "We

did not expect you. How did you getaway?"

"I took a week's leave. I haven't been very fit."

Grace gave him a sharp glance and thought he looked ill. His face was

pinched, his eyes were furtive, and his mouth was slack.

"What has been the matter?" she asked.

"Nothing very much," Gerald replied. "Mental strain, I expect. Managing a

bank is a big job and I'm not used to responsibility."

It looked as if his carelessness cost him an effort and Grace said

nothing. When they reached the house Gerald resumed: "You'll hear all

about it later. Is the chief at home?"

Grace nodded. They had seldom called Osborn father, but chief and head of

the clan, and she thought it significant that Gerald used the name he

often falteringly employed after boyish escapades. She began to feel that

there was something wrong.

"He's in the library," she said.

"That's satisfactory, as far as it goes," Gerald remarked, climbing the

steps. "The sooner I see him, the sooner I'll get through the thing." He

paused and gave Grace an anxious glance. "You'll stand by me? You

generally did."

"I suppose so," Grace agreed. "But I don't know your difficulties and

what you want."

"You will know soon," Gerald rejoined and shrugged his shoulders. "Well,

it's an awkward business; I've got to brace up."

He left her and went to the library, where Osborn sat at the big oak

table with some letters and a wine glass in front of him. The spacious

room was mostly in shadow, but a ray of fading light shone in through the

tall west window. Gerald avoided the illumination as he advanced, and

stopped in the gloom opposite Osborn, who straightened his body with a

jerk and upset the glass.

"Well?" he said harshly. "Why have you left the bank?"

"The wine is running across the table and on to your clothes.

Shall I ring?"

"No," said Osborn, pushing his chair back noisily. "Let it run! Stand

still or sit down. Tell me why you came."

"To begin with, I have left the bank for good."

"Ah," said Osborn grimly, "I suspected something like this! You mean they

turned you out? Well, you are consistent in your habits. You left school

in similar circumstances, you left Woolwich, and now--"

"I was not turned out, sir. They gave me a week's leave, but I

can't go back."

Osborn frowned. Things had been going well and he had thought himself

free from trouble for a time, but it looked as if he would get his worst

jar. He tried to preserve his calm and said with a touch of weariness:

"Tell me what has happened and keep as near the truth as is

possible for you."

Gerald told him, standing back in the shadow and not pausing to choose

his words. It was an ugly story that could not be toned down and he knew

if he stopped he could not go on again. Although Osborn said nothing, his

face got red and the veins on his forehead swelled, and Gerald found his

silence strangely daunting. When the latter stopped, Osborn got up and

stood, rather shakily, with his hand clenched.

"Get out of my sight, you despicable thief!" he cried. "My control is

going. If you stand and fidget there, I'll knock you down!"

"There wouldn't be much use in that, although I deserve it," Gerald

replied. "It's too late for excuses. The situation's dangerous. You have

got to help me out."

"I can't help," said Osborn in a strained, hoarse voice. "Why didn't you

leave the country instead of coming home?"

Gerald forced a nervous smile. "The reason ought to be obvious, sir; I

might be brought back. We must get over the need for me to go. You see,

the bill must be met. If it's dishonored, everybody who knows us will

have something to talk about."

"I thought you a fool," said Osborn bitterly. "You are a fool, but you

have a vein of devilish cunning. You steal and forge; and then expect to

shuffle off the consequences on to your relatives!"

He pulled himself up, for Gerald's coolness was steadying. "However, I

must understand. What will happen when the lender finds you cannot pay?"

"The usual course would be for him to go to the endorser," Gerald replied

and added with some awkwardness: "I mean the man whose name I used. His

signature's a guarantee and makes him liable. Still, as Hallam's a

tactful fellow, it's possible he'll first come to you."

"Do you mean he's suspicious?"

"I don't know. He took off an extortionate discount for a very

short loan."

"How much did he lend you?"

"The bill was for two thousand pounds."

Osborn made a helpless gesture. "I can't pay. The money I borrowed is

partly spent and the rest must go for wages and material. You can't put

wages off--"

He stopped and sat down limply. The shock was beginning to tell. He felt

dull and had no reserve of moral strength to sustain him now his fury had

gone. Gerald saw this and knew that guidance must come from him. He

waited, however, and Osborn went on:

"It's ridiculous that we should be ruined for two thousand pounds; but

there it is! If I try to borrow from my friends, I must tell why I need

the money. And I don't know who would lend."

"Thorn might," Gerald suggested meaningly. "I asked him and he wouldn't,

but I don't think his refusal was final."

"Ah!" said Osborn, with a start. "Why do you think it was not?"

"I imagine he has another plan; he means to wait until it's obvious we

must have his help. Then he can ask what he likes."

For a moment, Osborn's anger blazed up again. "I see where you are

leading, you contemptible cur! You expect your sister to pay for you!"

"It would be a good marriage," said Gerald, awkwardly. "I thought you

wanted it."

"Stop!" exclaimed Osborn, and rested his elbows on the table, with his

shoulders bent.

He had wanted Grace to marry Thorn, but his domineering temper did not

carry him as far as Gerald thought. He had hoped that by and by Grace

would consent; it was ridiculous to imagine she would long refuse to see

the advantages that were plain to him, but to force her to pay for her

brother's fault was another thing. Although Grace was rebellious, he had

some love for her. In fact, he revolted from the plan and felt he hated

Thorn for the pressure he could use. He was nearly resigned to letting

things go and facing the threatened disaster.

For a minute or two, he did not move and Gerald got horribly cramped as

he stood opposite. The room was getting dark and Osborn's figure was

indistinct, but his quietness hinted at a struggle, Gerald began to feel

anxious, because he had not expected his father to hesitate. At length

Osborn looked up.

"You haven't told me whose name you used."

"Askew's," said Gerald, with a tremor. He knew he could use no stronger

argument, but felt afraid.

"Askew's!" shouted Osborn, straightening his bent shoulders with a savage

jerk. "This is more than I can bear. Was there nobody you could rob but

the man who has plotted against me since he came home from school?" He

stopped and gasped as if his rage were choking him and it was some

moments before he went on: "You have given the fellow power to humble us

and drag our name in the mud. Can't you imagine how he'll exult? Our

honor in Askew's hands! It's unthinkable!"

"If the bill isn't met, the holder will apply to Askew," Gerald said as

coolly as he could.

Osborn's muscles relaxed and he sank back into his limp pose. His hand

shook as he wiped his wet forehead.

"You have said enough. Leave me alone. I must try to think."

Gerald went out and drew a deep breath when he reached the landing. He

felt shaky and ashamed, but knew he had won. The shutting of the door

gave Osborn some relief. The anger and disgust Gerald excited had

confused his brain, but now the lad had gone he saw no light. There was

but one way of escape, and this a way it was almost unthinkable that he

should take. The strange thing was he should hate it so much, for he had

never indulged his children or thought about their happiness. Yet he

shrank from forcing his daughter to marry Thorn, whom he approved while

she did not.

He might, perhaps, for the girl's sake, have sacrificed his pride; but

there was an obstacle before which his courage melted. If Thorn did not

help, Askew would know his disgrace and Osborn did not expect him to be

merciful. His rancor against Askew had by degrees become a blind,

illogical hate that made it impossible for him to see anything Kit did in

its proper light. Feeling as he did, he imagined Kit would rejoice in the

opportunity for humbling him.

All the same, knowing the fight was hopeless, he struggled against the

conviction that he must beg help from Thorn. In many ways, he liked Alan,

but he was hard and Osborn dreaded his firmness now. Yet he could help

and there was nobody else. It got dark, but Osborn did not move. A faint

breeze came up and moaned about the house, and presently a moonbeam stole

into the room. Osborn sat still, with his head bent and his arms spread

out across the table. Sometimes he burned with anger against Gerald and

sometimes he scarcely felt anything at all.

At length, he got up, and with an effort went upstairs. Half an hour

later, a heavy sleep that came as a reaction after the shock closed his

eyes and banished his troubles for a time.

CHAPTER VIII

GRACE'S CONFIDENCE

On the day after Gerald's return Osborn shut himself up in his library.

If he could raise two thousand pounds, it would save him from agreeing to

the demand Thorn would, no doubt, make, and although he really knew the

thing was impossible, he sought desperately for a way of escape. He was

careless about money, and, for the most part, left his business to his

agent, but he wanted to find out how he stood before he went to Hayes.

There was no obvious reason for his doing so, but he had begun to suspect

that Hayes was not as devoted to his interests as he had thought. His

wife and Grace distrusted the fellow, and although they knew nothing

about business, Osborn admitted that the advice they had sometimes given

him had been sound.

The involved calculations he made gave him fresh ground for disturbance.

It was plain that he could borrow no more money and the sum he had

received for the last mortgage had nearly gone. He might perhaps get

together three or four hundred pounds, at the risk of letting builders

and drainers go unpaid, but this was not enough. After a time, he put

away his books in a fit of hopeless anger and drove across to see Hayes

at the market town.

The interview was short and disappointing. Osborn could not tell Hayes

why he needed money and found him unusually firm. He proved that the

estate was heavily overburdened, fresh loans were impossible, and stern

economy must be used if it was to be saved from bankruptcy. To some

extent, Osborn had expected this, but had cherished a faint hope that

Hayes might lend him enough to satisfy Gerald's creditor. He could not

force himself to ask for a loan outright, and Hayes had been strangely

dull about his cautious hints. Osborn believed the fellow could have

helped him, but as he had shown no wish to do so there was nothing to be

said. He drove home in a downcast mood and sent for Gerald.

"I can't get the money," he said. "You know the man you dealt with. Is

there any hope of his renewing the bill?"

"I'm afraid there is none, sir," Gerald replied.

"When he made the loan he knew you were a bank-clerk and had no money."

"I expect he did know, but thought you had some."

Osborn sighed. His anger had gone and a dull, hopeless dejection had

taken its place. He felt as if he and Gerald were accomplices in a

plot against Grace, and did not resent the lad's insinuation that they

stood together. The Osborns did stand together, and he hoped Grace

would see her duty.

"Well," he said, "the payment is not due just yet. I'll wait a little

and then write to the fellow."

It was a relief to put the thing off, but he found no comfort as the days

went by, and although he shrank from taking Mrs. Osborn into his

confidence, his moody humor gave her a hint. Besides, he was not clever

at keeping a secret and now and then made illuminating remarks. Mrs.

Osborn, although reserved, was shrewd and she and Grace, without

consulting each other, speculated about the trouble that obviously

threatened the house. By degrees, their conjectures got near the truth

and at length Mrs. Osborn nerved herself to ask her husband a few blunt

questions. He had not meant to tell her all until he was forced, but was

taken off his guard and told her much. Afterwards she sent for Grace.

When Grace heard the story her face got very white and she looked at her

mother with fear in her eyes.

"I suspected something, but this is worse than I thought," she said in a

low strained voice. "But Alan is an old friend; it is not very much for

him to do and perhaps he will be generous."

Mrs. Osborn was sitting rather limply on the stone bench on the terrace,

but she roused herself.

"He is hard and I think will understand what his help is worth. He

knows there is nobody else. Besides, if we accept this favor, we

cannot refuse--"

"Oh," said Grace, "it's unbearable! I never liked Alan; I feel I hate him

now." She paused and gave Mrs. Osborn an appealing glance. "But you

cannot think I ought to agree, mother? There must be another way!"

Mrs. Osborn shook her head. "I cannot see another way, and many girls in

our class have married men they did not like, though I had hoped for a

better lot for you. With us, women do not count; the interests of the

family come first."

"That means the men's interests," Grace broke out. "Father has been

reckless all his life and now Gerald has dragged our name in the mud. He

is to be saved from the consequences and I must pay!"

"It is unjust," Mrs. Osborn agreed. "So far as that goes, there is no

more to be said. But when one thinks of the disgrace--Gerald hiding in

America, or perhaps in prison!"

Her voice broke. She was silent for a few moments and then resumed: "Your

father's is the conventional point of view that I was taught to accept

but which I begin to doubt. I must choose between my daughter and my son;

the son who carries on the house. If Gerald escapes, his punishment falls

on you. The choice is almost too hard for flesh and blood."

"I know," said Grace, with quick sympathy. "It is horrible!"

"Well," said Mrs. Osborn, "the line I ought to take is plain--Tarnside

will be Gerald's; our honor must be saved. But I do not know. If you

shrink from Alan--"

"If he insists, I shall hate him always. Yet, it looks as if there

was no use in rebelling. I feel as if I had been caught in a snare

that tightens when I try to break loose. I understand why a rabbit

screams and struggles until it chokes when it feels the wire. It's

like that with me."

Mrs. Osborn bent her head. "My dear! My dear!" Then she looked up

irresolutely with tears in her eyes. "I cannot see my duty as I thought.

The convention is that my son should come first, but you are nearer to me

than Gerald has been for long. I feel numb and dull; I cannot think.

Perhaps to-morrow I may see--"

Grace got up and kissed her. "Then, we will wait. If no help comes, I

suppose I must submit."

She went away with a languid step and Mrs. Osborn, sinking back in a

corner of the bench, looked across the lawn with vacant eyes. In a sense,

she had shirked her duty and failed her husband, but she had long given

way to him and was now beginning to rebel.

Grace afterwards looked back with horror on the disturbed evening and

sleepless night, and the morning brought her no relief. She could not

resign herself to the sacrifice she thought she would be forced to make,

and her mother told her that Osborn had sent a note to Thorn and a man

from London would arrive in the evening. It was plain that Alan must be

persuaded to help Gerald before the other came.

In the afternoon she walked up the dale, without an object, because it

was impossible to stop in the house. After a time she heard a dog bark

and, stopping by an open gate, saw Kit swinging a scythe where an old

thorn hedge threw its shadow on a field of corn. He was cutting a path

for the binder and for a minute or two she stood and watched.

Kit had taken off his jacket and his thin blue shirt harmonized with the

warm yellow of the corn and the color of his sunburnt skin. The thin

material showed the fine modeling of his figure as his body followed the

sweep of the gleaming scythe. The forward stoop and recovery were marked

by a rhythmic grace, and the crackle of the oat-stalks hinted at his

strength. His face was calm and Grace saw his mind dwelt upon his work.

He looked honest, clean, and virile, but she turned her head and

struggled with a poignant sense of loss. She knew now what it would cost

her to let him go.

Then his dog ran up and Kit, putting down his scythe, came to the gate.

He gave her a searching glance, but she was calm again and began to talk

about the harvest. He did not seem to listen, and when she stopped said

abruptly: "You are standing in the sun. Come into the shade; I'll make

you a seat."

She went with him, knowing this was imprudent but unable to resist, and

he threw an oat-stook against the bank and covered it with his coat.

Grace sat down and he studied her thoughtfully.

"I want you to tell me what's the matter," he said.

"How do you know I have anything to tell?"

"Perhaps it's sympathy, instinct, or something like that. Anyhow, I do

know, and you may feel better when you have told me. It's now and then a

relief to talk about one's troubles."

Grace was silent. Her heart beat fast and she longed for his sympathy,

and his nearness gave her a feeling of support; but she could not tell

him all her trouble. He waited with a patience that somehow indicated

understanding, and she looked about. The tall oats rippled before the

wind and soft shadows trailed across the hillside. When the white clouds

passed, the dale was filled with light that jarred her hopelessness.

"As you haven't begun yet, I'll make a guess," said Kit. "Things have

been going wrong at Tarnside since Gerald came home? Well, if you can

give me a few particulars, it's possible I can help."

His steady glance was comforting and Grace's reserve gave way. It was

humiliating, and in a sense disloyal, to talk about Gerald, but her pride

had gone and she was suddenly inspired by a strange confidence. Perhaps

Kit could help; one could trust him and he was not the man to be daunted

by obstacles.

"Yes," she said vaguely; "it's Gerald--"

"So I thought," Kit remarked. "Very well. You had better tell me all you

know, or, anyhow, all you can."

She gave him a quick glance to see what he meant, but his brown face was

inscrutable, and with an effort, talking fast in order to finish before

her courage failed, she narrated what she had heard. She could not, of

course, tell him all, and, indeed, Mrs. Osborn's story left much to be

explained.

"Ah," said Kit, "I begin to see a light, although the thing's not quite

plain yet. Anyhow, your father needs money and must ask his friends."

He paused and resumed in a voice he tried to make careless: "Has he

asked Thorn?"

Grace hesitated and turned her head as she felt the blood creep into her

face. "Yes; you see, there is nobody else."

"I'm not sure about that. However, it looks as if Thorn had not sent his

answer yet and there's not much time to lose. You expect the man from

London to-night?"

Grace said they did and studied Kit while he pondered. His preoccupied

look indicated that he was working out some plan and did not understand

how bold she had been. He did not seem at all surprised that she had come

to him. She had broken the family traditions by giving him her

confidence, but she felt happier.

"I'd like to see Gerald," he said. "It's important, and I'll be at

Ashness at four o'clock. If he will not come, you must let me know."

"I'll send him if I can," said Grace, who got up. Then she hesitated and

looked away across the field. "Perhaps I ought not to have told you, but

I felt I must, and I'm glad I did."

Kit smiled and after walking to the gate with her went on with his

mowing. Her story left out much he wanted to know, but he thought he saw

where it led and would get the rest from Gerald. This might be difficult,

but he meant to insist.

When Grace reached Tarnside she met Gerald on the lawn and took him to

the bench under the copper-beech.

"Mr. Askew wants you to go to Ashness at four o'clock," she said.

"Askew wants me!" Gerald exclaimed, with a start, and Grace thought he

looked afraid. "Why?"

"I don't know. He said it was important."

Gerald looked hard at her. "Well, I suppose it is important. But how does

he know about the thing?"

"I told him," Grace answered with forced quietness.

"You told him?" Gerald gasped, and then laughed harshly. "I knew you had

pluck, but didn't expect this! You don't seem to realize what an

extravagant thing you've done."

"I don't; it doesn't matter. Will you go?"

Gerald pondered for a few moments and then looked up. "You owe me

nothing, Grace. In fact, you and mother have often had to pay for my

folly; but I want you to be honest now. I imagine you understand what

Alan expects if he helps me out?"

"Yes," said Grace in a strange hard voice.

"It would be a good marriage; the kind of marriage you ought to make.

Alan's rich and can give you the things you like and ought to have. But

with all that, I imagine you'd sooner let it go?"

"I hate it," Grace said quietly. "I don't like Alan; I never shall

like him."

"He has some drawbacks," Gerald remarked, and was silent. He had not

often a generous impulse, but he was moved by his sister's distress and

thought he saw a plan. The plan was extravagant, and risky for him.

"I wonder whether you'd sooner marry Askew?" he resumed.

Grace moved abruptly and her face got red. She had not expected the

question and was highly strung. Gerald saw her embarrassment and went on:

"Of course, he's an outsider, from our point of view, but he's a good

sort. In fact, he's much better than Alan. Besides, there's some ground

for believing you are pretty good friends."

"Stop!" Grace exclaimed. "This has nothing to do with you. It's

unthinkable that you should meddle!"

Gerald smiled. "I'm not going to give Askew a hint, if that is what you

mean. I wanted to find out if you'd shrink from him as you shrink from

Alan, and I think I know."

"You don't know," Grace declared, and then stopped and blushed as she met

his steady look. After all, there was no use in pretending; Gerald would

not be deceived. Still, when he quietly got up she asked with alarm:

"What are you going to do?"

"I'm going to Ashness," Gerald replied. "I've made things hard for you

and mother, but I won't bring you fresh embarrassment now. In fact, I

think you can trust me, and, indeed, it's obvious that you must." He

turned and looked back with a smile. "If Askew's the man I think, the

chief will shortly get a jar."

Grace wanted to call him back, but somehow could not, and sat still while

he crossed the lawn. So long as she could see him, he moved carelessly,

but when he went down the drive behind a clipped hedge his step got slow

and his face was hard. The thing he meant to do would need some pluck,

and might be dangerous if he had not judged Askew right.

In the meantime, Kit went back to Ashness and smoked a cigarette while he

pondered what Grace had told him. He had seen that she did not altogether

know her brother's offense, but since money was needed, Kit could guess;

Gerald had been betting or speculating and had used money that was not

his. Undoubtedly, Kit did not think he had robbed his employers, because,

if he had done so, he would not have stayed at Tarnside. He had, however,

robbed somebody, and as Kit remembered his skill with the pen he saw a

light. Gerald had used somebody else's name, on the back of a bill or

promissory note, and now the bill must be met.

Presently he heard steps in the passage and looking up as Gerald came in

indicated a chair. Gerald sat down and for a few moments Kit studied him

quietly. It was obvious that he felt some strain, but his look was

resolute and Kit owned that he had more pluck than he had thought. The

room was very quiet and the shadow of a big ash tree fell across the open

window. The musical tinkle of a binder working among the corn came

faintly down the dale.

"Well?" said Gerald, conscious of a sense of relief in Askew's presence.

"You sent for me."

"I did. Your sister told me something; all she knew, perhaps, but not

enough. Anyhow, you are in trouble about money and I promised to help."

"For my sake?" Gerald asked.

Kit frowned. "Not altogether, but we'll let that go. If I am to be

of use, you had better state the trouble plainly. I must know how

things are."

"I suppose if you find the money I need, it will give you a claim on us,"

Gerald remarked meaningly.

"Yes," said Kit, with a steady look. "But that won't make any difference.

I don't mean to urge my claim. I expect this clears the ground?"

"It does; it's some relief. As a matter of fact, nobody can help quite as

much as you."

"Ah," said Kit, "I think I see! You used _my_ name. What was the sum for

which you made me responsible?"

Gerald told him and waited anxiously when Kit knitted his brows. The sum

was not so large as the latter had thought and Osborn's inability to

raise it indicated that he was seriously embarrassed.

"I understand your father applied to Thorn," said Kit. "Does he know you

have come to me?"

"He does not; nobody knows but Grace. I'd better state that I did

come because I thought you'd take a generous line, and I'm doubtful

about Thorn."

Kit made a sign of understanding. "Thorn hasn't arrived yet?" he said.

"He sent a note he'd come across, but when I left he hadn't arrived. My

notion is he's waiting until the last moment, with the object of making

us realize we must have his help."

"It's possible," said Kit, who approved Gerald's handling of the matter.

The lad was a wastrel, but he had run some risk in order to save his

sister from being forced to pay for his fault. "We won't bother about

Thorn's object," he resumed. "Tell me about your difficulties. I don't

want a half confidence."

Gerald hesitated and then began his tale. He had used the bank's money

to speculate with and had lost. Plunging again, in the hope of getting

straight, he had got alarmed when the margin shrank, and had gone to

Hallam, the money-lender. The latter had insisted on a guarantee for the

bill and Gerald had used Kit's name. He replaced the bank's money and had

hoped the shares would go up before the bill fell due, but they had not.

"Well," said Kit quietly, "I expected something like this, and when the

fellow brings the bill to your father it must be met." He stopped and

picking up a newspaper studied the steamship advertisements. Then he

turned to Gerald.

"There's another thing. You can't get a post in England, and for your

mother's and sister's sakes, had better leave the country. A fast New

York boat sails from Liverpool to-morrow. You must get off by

to-night's train."

Gerald looked at him with surprise. "But I'm not going to New York. I've

no money and don't know what to do when I get there."

"I'll fix that," Kit said dryly. "You are going, anyhow. If you deliver

the letter I'll give you to some people in Mobile, they'll find you a

job. The rest will depend upon yourself."

For a few moments Gerald hesitated, and then got up. "Very well!

Perhaps it's the best chance I'll get, and I'll take it. But I must go

back and pack."

"I think not," said Kit. "There's not much time. I must see the bank

manager at his house first of all, and start soon. You'll come with me to

the town. Sit down and write to your mother; I'll see she gets the note."

Gerald did as he was told and not long afterwards Kit and he drove out of

the Ashness lonning and took the road to the town.

CHAPTER IX

KIT GOES TO THE RESCUE

As the sun got lower an apathetic gloom began to replace the anxiety that

had kept the Osborns highly strung. Mrs. Osborn went dejectedly about the

house, sometimes moving an ornament and putting away a book, for her

brain was dull and she felt incapable of the effort to rouse herself for

her daughter's sake. Thorn had not arrived and if he did not come soon he

would be too late. On the whole, this was some relief, although it meant

that there was no escape from the disaster that threatened her home.

Torn by conflicting emotions, she had since morning struggled against

the binding force of her traditions. In a sense, it was Grace's duty to

save the family honor, but the duty would cost the girl too much. Yet,

if Grace failed them, Gerald must suffer, and she doubted if her

husband could bear the shame that must fall on all. Now, however, she

was conscious of a numbing resignation that blunted feeling and dulled

her brain.

In the meantime, Grace stood at the lodge gate, watching the road to

Ashness while the shadows crept across the dale. Gerald had not come

back and she had not told her mother where he had gone. The delay was

worrying, particularly since Kit had sent no message. He had said he

could help and one could trust him, but he did not come and the

confidence she had felt was vanishing. If it was not well placed,

there was no escape for her, and she shrank with horror from meeting

Thorn's demand.

The shadows got longer, but nothing moved on the road that ran like a

white riband across the fields until it vanished among the trees at

Ashness. Presently, however, she heard the throb of a car coming up the

valley and a cloud of dust rolled up behind a hedge. It was Thorn's car;

she knew its hum and as she watched the dust get nearer her face went

white. Then, as the hum became loud and menacing, she clenched her hand

and ran in nervous panic up the drive. She was breathless when she

reached the house, but pulled herself together and went to a quiet room

where she would be alone.

Osborn, sitting in the library, heard the car, and got up with a sense of

relief and shrinking. He had been afraid that Thorn would fail him, and

now he almost wished that the fellow had not come. He was not in the mood

to be logical, and although it was obvious that Thorn alone could save

him from disaster, knowing what Grace must pay hurt him more than he had

thought. Yet she must pay; he could find no other plan. Now he was

acquiescent but not resigned, and his hopelessness gave him calm.

Thorn's face was hot when he came in, and he glanced at Osborn with an

effort for carelessness when the latter indicated a chair. Osborn looked

old and broken, but he had a touch of dignity that was new.

"I'm sorry if I'm late," Thorn remarked. "I had to go to Swinset and had

trouble with the car."

Osborn wondered dully whether this was the real ground for his delay, but

he said, "Oh, well, it does not matter now you have arrived. I gave you a

hint about my object in sending for you, but you don't know all yet."

"I imagine I know enough. Gerald's in trouble; he or you must meet the

bill Hallam will bring. You see, the fellow belongs to my club and I had

a talk with him when I was in town."

"So you knew what threatened us?" Osborn remarked, rather sharply. "If

so, it's curious you waited until I sent for you."

Thorn hesitated. He had meant to be tactful, but it looked as if he had

been rash. Osborn's suspicions were obviously excited.

"The matter is delicate, and I knew you would send for me if you thought

I could be of use."

"You can be of use. Unless I take up the fellow's bill, Gerald will

go to jail."

Thorn made a sign of sympathy. He was surprised by Osborn's bluntness,

which implied that the latter was desperate. "That must be prevented.

I'll give you a cheque."

He took out his cheque book, and then stopped, and Osborn asked: "Is this

a free loan, Alan? I mean, is it made without conditions?"

"A gift, if you like. Anyhow, I won't bother you about repayment. We

can't talk about _conditions_; but I have something to ask."

"Grace?" said Osborn, rather hoarsely.

"Yes," said Thorn, with a hint of embarrassment. "I want Grace. It's an

awkward situation. I don't want to urge that I deserve my reward, but

I've waited a long time and thought you approved."

"I did approve. I hoped she'd marry you, but I imagined she could be

persuaded and would do so willingly. However, it looks as if I was

mistaken."

Thorn leaned forward, fixing his eyes on Osborn.

"Grace is young, and perhaps I don't make a strong appeal to her

romantic feelings, but I belong to her rank and her views and tastes

are mine. That is much. Also, I can indulge and give her all she likes;

the refinements and comforts to which she is, in a sense, entitled.

After all, they count for something. I'm trying to be practical, but I

love her."

"If you really love her, I think you would do well not to urge her just

now," Osborn remarked quietly.

"Ah," said Thorn, "I can't wait. Waiting has gained me nothing and there

is a risk. If I were young, I'd use all the patience I could control, but

I'm getting old and farther away from Grace. In another year or two I

shall be bald and fat. Perhaps the argument's humorous, but it has a

cruel force for me."

"There are other girls, brought up as we have brought up Grace. They

might be flattered--"

Thorn spread out his hands. "You don't understand. I'm not looking for a

wife! I love her, and if she cannot be persuaded, will never marry

anybody else." He paused and resumed with some emotion: "I know the

shabbiness of using this opportunity; but it's the last I'll get. I don't

want to work on her gratitude, but I see no other plan. I would like to

be generous--but I can't let her go."

"Yet you seem to realize that she does not like you."

"She will get over that. Her likes and dislikes haven't yet hardened into

their final mold. She's impulsive and generous; I can win her by patience

and kindness."

"It is a rash experiment. If you are disappointed, Grace would

have to pay."

Thorn was silent for a few moments. He had talked with sincere passion,

but now began to think. Osborn's firmness was something of a surprise;

Thorn had not expected he would weigh his daughter's feelings against the

danger that threatened his house. His opposition must be broken down.

"I had hoped for your consent," he said and his face got hard. "To some

extent, I took it for granted."

Osborn's head sunk forward. He had struggled, but saw that he was beaten.

To beg would be useless and he could not fight. Pulling himself together

with an effort, he looked up.

"You mean you knew I could not refuse?"

"Yes," said Thorn, awkwardly, "I suppose I do mean something like that."

Osborn gave him a long, steady look. Thorn's face was set and his mouth

was firm. There was no hint of yielding and Osborn got up. "Very well; I

must tell my wife."

He rang a bell and a minute or two afterwards Mrs. Osborn came in. She

sat down and Osborn stood opposite.

"Alan has done us the honor of asking my consent to his marrying Grace,"

he said, with ironical formality. "If we approve, he is willing to help

Gerald." He turned to Thorn. "I think I have stated your terms?"

Thorn colored as he saw that Mrs. Osborn's eyes were fixed on him. "You

exaggerate. I am willing to do you a service that nobody else can render

and think I'm justified in counting on your gratitude."

"Very well," said Osborn. "I don't see much difference, except that you

want to save our pride." He paused and looked at his wife. "You know

Grace best. Will she consent?"

Something in his manner moved Mrs. Osborn. It was long since he had asked

what she thought, and she felt encouraged. Besides, now the crisis had

come, her irresolution had vanished. She had thrown off her reserve and

meant to defend her daughter.

"No," she said, with a determined note in her quiet voice. "Even if

she were willing, I should protest. The fault is Gerald's and he

must suffer."

Osborn felt some surprise, but his humiliation had made him gentle.

"Gerald cannot suffer alone. His disgrace will reflect upon us all and if

he has a son it will follow him. We have been reckless and extravagant,

but we have kept our good name and now, when it is all that is left us,

it must be protected."

"That was Gerald's duty," Mrs. Osborn rejoined and was silent for a few

moments. To some extent, her husband's point of view was hers and she

knew his finest quality was his exaggerated family pride. But she would

not force her daughter to marry Thorn.

"I will not consent," she resumed. "Grace has long suffered for her

brother's extravagance, but she shall not pay for his folly now. It is

unjust; the price is too high!" Then she gave Thorn an appealing glance.

"Alan, can you not be generous?"

"I'm not brave enough; it might cost me too much," Thorn answered in a

strained voice. "I cannot let Grace go. She would be happy with me

after a time."

Mrs. Osborn made a scornful gesture and there was silence. Osborn moved

irresolutely and it looked as if he were hesitating; then steps echoed

along the landing and he started as Kit came in. Thorn's face got very

dark, but Mrs. Osborn looked up with a strange sense of relief.

"I didn't stop to ask if you were at home," Kit remarked. "As you know,

time is getting short. I understand a man from London will bring you a

document about a loan."

"That is so," said Osborn, hoarsely. "What are you going to do about the

document?"

"Take it up," Kit answered, with a look of surprise. "My name's on the

back." He paused and glanced at Thorn. "Still, this is a matter I'd

sooner talk about with you alone."

Thorn got up, making an effort for self-control. "Since Mr. Askew has

arrived I needn't stay." He bowed to Mrs. Osborn. "It looks as if I had

not understood things. You won't need my help."

He went out with a curious heavy step, and when the door shut, Osborn sat

down and looked at Kit as if he had got a shock.

"Then, you haven't come to humble me?"

"Certainly not," said Kit. "I should have come before, but had to find my

bank manager, who had left his office."

"Where is Gerald? What have you done with him?" Mrs. Osborn asked, for

she began to see a light.

"Gerald's at the station hotel, waiting for the train to Liverpool. He

sails for New York to-morrow and takes a letter to some friends of mine

who will give him a good start. He sent a note."

Mrs. Osborn read the note and her eyes shone as she turned them on Kit.

"It is perhaps the best plan. I would have liked to see him; but I

thank you."

"What I have done cost me nothing, and I imagine Gerald will have as good

as chance of making progress as he had at the bank, while the excitement

he'll probably get will suit him better. But Hallam will be here soon if

the train is punctual, and before he comes I want to know--"

At this moment they heard a car come up the drive, a servant knocked at

the door, and Hallam was shown in. He sat down in front of the table

where Osborn told him, and glanced at Kit.

"This is Mr. Askew," Osborn said. "Mrs. Osborn will stay; she knows your

business."

Hallam bowed and tried not to look surprised. "Very well. I have brought

the document about which you wrote. I am sorry I find it impossible to

renew the loan."

"Let me see the bill," said Kit, who took it from him and afterwards

nodded. "Yes; that's all right! Cancel the thing and I'll give you a

cheque."

"You admit your liability, then?" Hallam asked.

"Of course! What did you expect? My name's here. It's not my habit to

disown my debts."

Hallam did not state what he had expected. He was tactful and was

satisfied to get his money. Pulling out a fountain pen, he cancelled the

bill and put Kit's cheque in his pocket.

"That is all, I think, and I can get a train if I start at once," he

said. "If you should require help to extend your farm or improve your

stock, I should be glad if you would apply to me."

"I'm afraid your interest is too high," Kit rejoined with a smile, and

Hallam bowed to the others and went out.

When he had gone, Osborn turned to Kit, who gave Mrs. Osborn the

cancelled bill.

"I don't understand," he said dully. "Why have you come to my rescue?"

"To some extent, it was for Miss Osborn's sake."

"Ah!" said Osborn. "I suppose you have a demand to make now I am in

your power?"

"You are not in my power. Mrs. Osborn has the bill, and if you cannot

repay me, I won't urge the debt. But there is, so to speak, a

stipulation. You must use no pressure to persuade Miss Osborn to marry

Mr. Thorn."

"I am not likely to do so," Osborn remarked, dryly. He paused and his

face got red as he struggled with his deep-rooted dislike for Kit.

"You have taken a very generous line, Mr. Askew," he resumed. "We have

not been friends, but I must confess it looks as if I had been unjust."

Kit smiled. "Luck made us antagonists. However, I hope the antagonism has

gone for good, because after all I have something to ask. I must go to

London on some business to-morrow, but with your leave I will again call

in a week."

"You will find us at home when you do come," Osborn answered with grave

politeness, and when Kit got up Mrs. Osborn gave him her hand.

He went out and Osborn, who felt limp now the strain had slackened,

leaned back heavily in his chair and looked at his wife.

"The fellow is a working farmer, but he struck just the right note. Well,

he has beaten me, and it's easier to be beaten by him than I thought. But

he states he's coming back--"

"Yes," said Mrs. Osborn. "I think he means to ask for Grace."

Osborn knitted his brows. "I imagined that was done with. It is one thing

to take his help and another to give him Grace. After all, there is not

much difference between his plan and Thorn's."

"I expect you will find the difference important," Mrs. Osborn replied

with a smile. "He has broken down your unjustified prejudice, and if he

is the man I think, he will leave Grace free to refuse--if she likes."

Then she went out, for the strain had been hard to bear, and Osborn sat

at the table with his hand tightly closed. He admitted that he had from

the beginning been wrong about Kit, but his prejudices were not

altogether banished yet.

CHAPTER X

GRACE'S CHOICE

A week after Hallam's visit, Kit, one afternoon, started for Tarnside. He

had been forced to go to London about some American business, but this

was a relief, since it gave him an excuse for delay. At his interview

with Osborn he had left the most important thing unsaid, because it might

have jarred Mrs. Osborn, whom he thought his friend, had he asked for

Grace at the moment he had put her father in his debt. In fact, he saw it

would be tactful if he waited for some time, but he did not mean to do

so. To some extent, he distrusted Osborn and resolved to make his request

before the latter's gratitude began to cool. Grace must have full liberty

to refuse, but he did not owe her father much.

He wondered how she would choose and his step got slower until he stopped

and, sitting on a broken wall, looked up the valley. The day was calm and

the sun shone on smooth pasture and yellow corn. The becks had shrunk in

the shady ghylls and a thin white line was all that marked the fall where

the main stream leaped down the Force Crag. On the steep slopes the

heather made purple patches among the bent-grass and Malton moor shone

red. Kit loved the quiet hills; he had known intrigue and adventure and

now saw his work waiting in his native dale. The soil called him; his job

was to extend the plow-land and improve his flocks.

This was important, because he could not tell how far Grace would

sympathize. Her father liked the leading place; an effort for display

and such luxury as could be cheaply got were the rule at Tarnside. It was

possible that Grace had unconsciously accepted a false standard of

values. Kit might, for her sake, have changed his mode of life, had he

thought it good for her, but he did not. She must have inherited

something of Osborn's tastes and to copy the Tarnside customs might

encourage their development. It was better to remove her from insidious

influences to fresh surroundings where she would, so to speak, breath a

bracing air. But this could not be done unless she were willing to go.

Kit knitted his brows as he mused, because there was not much to indicate

whether he would find Grace willing or not. She liked him well enough,

but he had not ventured to pose as her lover. He was too proud and

jealous for her; knowing what Osborn thought, he would not involve her in

a secret intrigue. Yet she had been kind and he had now and then got a

hint of an elusive tenderness. Moreover, in her distress, she had come to

him. She was proud and he thought would not have asked his help unless

she was willing to give something in return.

After a time he got up with a quick, resolute movement. He would soon

know if he had set his hopes too high, and would gain nothing by

indulging his doubts. Crossing a field where the binders were at work, he

went up the Tarnside drive with a firm step and saw Osborn and Mrs.

Osborn sitting under the copper-beech. It looked as if they were waiting

for him, and he braced himself as he advanced. Mrs. Osborn smiled as she

gave him her hand and Osborn indicated a box of cigarettes.

"Sit down. Mrs. Osborn will give you some tea presently," he said, with

an effort for hospitable politeness, because he could not yet resign

himself to the demand his wife expected Kit would make. "You have been

to town on business," he resumed, feeling that silence would be awkward.

"I hope you found things satisfactory."

"I did," said Kit, who was glad that Osborn had, no doubt unconsciously,

given him a lead. He had gone to visit the agents of his American

bankers, and had learned that Adam's estate had turned out to be worth

more than he had thought. "It was a relief, because it helps me to get

over some of the hesitation I felt," he resumed. "I want your permission

to ask Miss Osborn if she will marry me."

Osborn tried to hide his disturbed feelings and answered with forced

quietness: "My wife warned me that I might expect something like this,

but I must own that I find agreement hard. However, after the help you

have given us, it is plain that I must try to overcome my reluctance."

"That is all I ask in the meantime," said Kit. "I don't expect you to

influence Miss Osborn. In fact, she must understand that I have no claim

and feel herself free to refuse."

"You are generous," Mrs. Osborn remarked. "Of course, it is obvious that

her gratitude must count for much."

"I don't want her gratitude to count," Kit declared, and Osborn gave him

a puzzled glance.

"There is something else that must be said. Grace has been indulged and

knows nothing of self-denial. Frugality that you think proper and usual

would be hardship to her. Can you give your wife the comforts and

refinements she has had at home?"

Kit noted Mrs. Osborn's faint smile and wondered whether it hinted at

ironical amusement, but he put a document on the table.

"You are entitled to ask and I have brought a short draught of the

arrangements I am ready to make if I am fortunate enough to win your

daughter."

Osborn picked up the paper and gave it to his wife. Then he looked at

Kit with surprise.

"This alters things; you are almost a rich man! If you wanted, you could

buy a house like Tarnside."

"No," said Kit firmly; "it alters nothing and leaves me where I was. I'm

satisfied with Ashness."

"Ah," said Osborn. "You mean you would sooner be a working farmer than a

country gentleman? The preference is somewhat remarkable!"

"I know where I belong. The important thing is that if Miss Osborn

marries me, she will be a farmer's wife."

"Exactly," said Osborn. "From my point of view, it's an awkward drawback.

I doubt if my daughter is suited for the part." He looked at Mrs. Osborn

and resumed: "But this is a matter Grace must decide about and you

insisted that no pressure should be used. I imagine you were afraid of my

influence and do not know if I am afraid of yours or not. If you agree, I

will send for her."

Kit said he was willing and was silent when Osborn went away. Although he

imagined Mrs. Osborn was sympathetic, he could not force himself to talk.

Since he had insisted that persuasion must not be used, he could not

demand to meet Grace alone and she might find it hard to accept his plans

without some explanation, which would be awkward to give when her parents

were there. He could, if he wanted, change his mode of life, but if they

were to be happy, she must be removed from influences he thought

dangerous and he must use his energy in useful work. He saw this very

clearly; but whether Grace would see it was another thing.

He felt some strain while he waited and watched the trembling

shadows move upon the grass. The rays of light that pierced the dark

foliage flickered about Mrs. Osborn's dress and when he glanced at

her he thought her look encouraging, but she did not speak. By and

by Osborn returned and said Grace was coming, and Kit found the

suspense hard to bear.

At length she came and his heart beat as he watched her cross the lawn.

She wore a plain white dress and when she stopped in front of the others

her face was pale but calm.

"Mr. Askew has asked my permission to marry you and I cannot refuse if

you agree," Osborn said in a formal tone. "He stipulates that I must not

persuade you one way or the other, and declares that he does not want to

work upon your gratitude."

Some color came into Grace's face as she looked at Kit. "Then, you don't

value my gratitude?"

"I value it very much," Kit replied with forced quietness. "But I feel it

ought not to count."

He stopped awkwardly, for he noted a sparkle in Grace's eyes and felt

that he was badly handicapped. She was proud and probably did not

understand his disinterested attitude. It was a relief when Mrs. Osborn

interposed:

"Mr. Askew is trying to be just. We have agreed that you are not to be

influenced."

"Ah," said Grace, "I think I see--"

She waited and Osborn went on: "Since you are to make a free choice, I

must state things as plainly as I can. Mr. Askew is not poor; he is able

to give you all we think you ought to have. In fact, there is no very

obvious reason he should not leave Ashness, but he does not mean to do

so, and although I cannot follow his argument, imagines that it would be

better for you both if he carries on his farming. It looks as if he did

not approve our rule."

Kit frowned, and colored when Grace turned to him. On the whole,

Osborn had not stated things incorrectly, but the situation was

embarrassing; Grace would, no doubt, resent the stipulation he felt

forced to make and expect a more lover-like attitude from the man who

asked her to be his wife.

"Grace," he said appealingly, "I'm afraid you don't understand. But when

you must give up so much I durst not hide the drawbacks. Besides, it's

agreed that I must not urge you."

She studied him for a moment. "I do understand," she said, and then

turned to Osborn. "I suppose you are trying to guard me, but I am not

afraid. One gets tired of pretense and secret economy, and forced

idleness has not much charm. Well, if Mr. Askew, knowing what he knows

about us, is willing to run the risk--"

"Grace!" said Kit, moving forward, but she stopped him with a

proud gesture.

"There is a risk. I think we shall both need courage, but if you are

willing I need not hesitate. I will try to make a good farmer's wife."

She turned and went away, and the blood came into Kit's face as he looked

at Osborn.

"I have played fair, but it was hard. Now you have heard her answer, I'm

at liberty to plead my cause."

Osborn said nothing, but his wife gave Kit a friendly smile and he

went off with a resolute step in pursuit of Grace. He came up with

her in a shrubbery, but it looked as if she did not hear him, for her

head was bent.

"Grace," he said, putting his hand on her arm. "I'm embarrassed and, in a

way, ashamed."

She turned and confronted him with her wonted calm. "I don't see why you

are ashamed. You were just--I think I mean quite impartial. You wanted me

to weigh things and would have been resigned if I had found the drawbacks

too much."

"It wasn't as easy as you think," said Kit grimly. "In fact, I was

burning with anger and suspense. But, you see, I had promised your

father--"

"Yes," said Grace; "that was plain. You were firm when you thought I

might be forced to marry Thorn, and when father agreed not to use his

influence, I suppose you could not use yours. Well, I'm glad you were

angry; it was human, and your scrupulous fairness was not flattering."

She paused and, to Kit's relief, gave him a smile. "After all, it would

not have hurt to be urged to marry the man I did like."

"You mean me?" said Kit and boldly took her in his arms.

She drew back from him, blushing, after a few moments, but Kit was

content. There was something fascinatingly elusive about Grace and he

could wait. They went on quietly down the path until they came to a bench

in a shady nook. Kit leaned against a tree and Grace sat down.

"Kit," she said, "I didn't know you were rich. It really doesn't matter,

but I'm glad I fell in love with you when I didn't know."

"Then, you were in love with me?"

She smiled. "Of course! I must have been, when I came to you because I

was afraid of Thorn. Love gave me confidence; I knew you would help. In

a way, I did an extravagant thing, because you were not really like a

lover at all."

"The control I used often hurt," said Kit. "I was afraid I might alarm

and lose you; it was much to see you now and then." He paused, feeling

there was something to be said that must be said now. "However, about

Ashness--"

"Oh," said Grace, "I suppose it cost you an effort to be firm and I

hope it did. You needn't be afraid, though. When my father told me,

I understood, and it won't hurt to leave Tarnside; I'm anxious to

get away."

"My dear!" said Kit. "Ashness has some charm and we will try to make it a

proper home for you."

"It is a home; I sometimes went to see your father--I liked him so much,

Kit. One feels the old house has sheltered sincere men and women who

loved each other and something they left haunts the quiet spot. I don't

want you to alter it much."

"You shall alter it as you like. The only rule at Ashness will be what

pleases you."

"Now you're very nice! I'm going to be happy because I can be myself. So

far, I've been forced to be reserved. You don't really know me, Kit."

"Perhaps that's true," Kit remarked. "You're wonderful, because there's

always some fresh charm to learn. I thought I knew you before I went

away, but when I came back I saw how foolish I was. I wonder whether you

knew I loved you then?"

Grace blushed. "I think I knew, and felt cheated."

"Why did you feel cheated?"

"Oh," said Grace, "I liked you! I was young and felt I was entitled to

love a man who loved me, if I wanted, but couldn't use my right. Then,

not long since, when you were so grave and just, I felt I had been

cheated worse."

"I see," said Kit and came nearer the bench. "I was cheated, too. But

look at me, dear, and I'll try to tell you all I think."

He told her with fire and passion and when he stopped, bending down to

her, she put her arm round his neck.

"Now you're ridiculously romantic, but you're very charming, Kit," she

said.

CHAPTER XI

OSBORN'S SURRENDER

By degrees Osborn accepted his daughter's choice philosophically. Kit was

not the son-in-law he had wanted, but he was forced to admit that the

fellow jarred less than he had thought. For one thing, he never reminded

Osborn of the benefit he had conferred, and the latter noted that his

country-house neighbors opened their doors to him. They could not, of

course, altogether ignore the man Grace had promised to marry, but Osborn

soon had grounds for imagining that they liked Kit for himself. The

wedding had been fixed and Osborn, although not satisfied, was resigned.

In the meantime, it began to look as if the gloom that had long ruled at

Tarnside was banished. Mrs. Osborn's reserve was less marked, she smiled,

and her step was lighter. Grace, too, had changed, and developed. She had

often been impatient but now was marked by a happy calm. Osborn found her

gentler and sometimes strangely compliant, although he felt he must make

no rash demands. The girl indulged him, but she could be firm. Her new

serenity had a charm. Moreover, Gerald wrote cheerful letters and

declared that he was making better progress than would have been possible

for him at home.

Osborn had seldom thought much about the happiness of his family, but he

felt a dull satisfaction because things were going well with the others.

It was a set-off against his troubles, which were getting worse. The

improvements his tenants and Hayes had forced him to make cost more than

he calculated and he met stubborn resistance when he talked about putting

up the rents. The money he had got by the last mortgage had gone; he

could not borrow more, and his creditors demanded payment of his debts.

He put off the reckoning, however, until, one day when he drove to the

market town to consult his agent, he got a rude jar.

In the first place, Hayes kept him waiting in a cold room, and he stood

for a time by the window, looking out drearily at the old-fashioned

square. The day was bleak and wet, and the high moors that shut in the

little town loomed, blurred and forbidding, through drifting mist. The

square was empty, the fronts of the tall old houses were dark with rain,

and the drops from a clump of bare trees fell in a steady shower on the

grass behind the iron rails. The gloom reacted upon Osborn's disturbed

mood, and he frowned when Hayes came in.

"I sent you word that I would call," he said.

"You did," Hayes agreed. "I was occupied when my clerk told me you

were here."

Osborn looked at him with some surprise. Hayes was very cool and not

apologetic. "Well," he said, "you know what I want to talk about. I

suppose you have seen Forsyth and Langdon about the renewal of their

leases?"

"Yes. Both state they'll go sooner than pay you extra rent."

"Then they must go," Osborn rejoined, trying to hide his disappointment,

since he had spent some money on the steadings in the hope of raising the

rent. Now he came to think of it, Hayes had held this out as an

inducement when he urged the expenditure. "It looks as if your judgment

wasn't very good, but by comparison with other things the matter's not

important," he resumed. "You know the sum I'll need between now and the

end of the term?"

"I do know. In fact, I imagine you will need more than you suspect,"

Hayes rejoined. "You'll find it impossible to borrow the money on

satisfactory terms."

Osborn looked hard at him. The fellow's manner was rather abrupt than

sympathetic; but Hayes went on: "Before we advertise for new tenants,

there is something I want to suggest. Although the farms are mortgaged, I

might be able to find a buyer--at a price."

"No," said Osborn firmly. "The buyer would have to undertake the debt and

the sum he would be willing to pay would not last me long. When it was

spent I'd have practically nothing left."

"The situation's awkward; but there it is! Of course, if you were able to

carry on until your rents come in--"

"You know I can't carry on. I came to you, hoping you might suggest a

workable plan. Who is the buyer?"

"I am," said Hayes.

Osborn's face got red and he struggled for self-control. The fellow

was his servant, but it looked as if he had cunningly involved him in

entanglements an honest agent would have avoided. Osborn remembered

that he had sometimes vaguely suspected Hayes. Now he knew him, it

was too late.

"I may be forced to sell, but not to you," he said haughtily.

Hayes shrugged. "That must be as you like, but I'm able to give you a

better price than anybody else. I have an object for buying the farms

and, if necessary, would pay something near their proper value, without

taking off much for the debt. Anyhow, you had better look at this

statement of your liabilities."

Osborn studied the document with a hopeless feeling. Things were worse

than he had feared and it cost him an effort to pull himself together

when he looked up.

"Why do you want to buy?" he asked.

"Well, you see, the land between Forsyth's and the dale-head is heavily

mortgaged, and, taking the two farms with the others, would make a

compact block that could be economically worked. The new estate would run

down to Tarnside, and since you may find it needful to sell the house, I

might make you an offer."

"But the consolidation wouldn't help _you_," Osborn remarked with

a puzzled look. "It would, perhaps, be an advantage for the mortgage

holders."

"I hold the mortgages," Hayes said quietly.

Osborn started. "But," he stammered, "I got the money from somebody

else."

"That is so. I bought the other debts, and supplied the funds when you

raised new loans."

"You bought the debts with my money!" Osborn exclaimed. "You used your

post to rob me of my estate!"

"I suppose one must make allowances, but you are unjust. You got the

proper value for the land you pawned, and squandered the money. The

consequence was inevitable and it's futile to complain. For that

matter, it is not altogether unusual for a landlord and his steward to

change places."

"I trusted you and you cheated me," Osborn resumed with poignant

bitterness.

"You lived in false security and refused to think. You knew the reckoning

must come, but were satisfied if you could put it off. Now you must bear

the consequences, it is not my fault. However, this is not important.

Will you sell?"

"No," said Osborn hoarsely. "I will not sell to _you_."

Hayes smiled. "You must sell to somebody and will not get as good a

price."

Osborn got up and went out with a dragging step. The blow had left him

numb, but as he drove home in the rain he had a hazy notion that Hayes'

statements were to some extent justified. He had lived in false security;

seeing how things were going and yet refusing to believe. Somehow, it had

looked impossible for him to lose Tarnside. The estate was his by the

sacred right of inheritance; for a hundred years there had been an Osborn

at the Hall. Yet the estate had gone, and he was to blame. It had, so to

speak, melted in his careless hands. He felt old and broken when he told

his wife and daughter about the interview.

Mrs. Osborn did not look as much surprised as he had thought and Grace,

although sympathetic, was calm. They had known the blow was coming and

were ready for the shock. After a time, Osborn left them and Grace looked

at her mother.

"I must tell Kit."

"Yes," said Mrs. Osborn. "I think he ought to know, though this is not a

matter in which he can help."

"It looks like that," Grace agreed and then paused with a confident

smile. "But Kit's rather wonderful; you don't really know him yet. He

always finds a way when there is something hard to be done."

"Ah," said Mrs. Osborn, "there is comfort in our troubles since they have

given you a man you can trust."

Grace went to Ashness and found Kit studying some accounts in the room

she called his museum.

"Put the books away, come to the fire and talk to me," said Grace, and

stopped him when he moved a chair. "I think I'll take the low stool. It's

wretchedly cold and I really came to be comforted."

She sat down, leaning against his chair with her head turned so that she

could look up, and held her hands to the fire. Kit's heart beat, for

Grace had developed recently; her reserve had gone and a curious, frank

tenderness had come instead.

"This is very nice," she resumed. "There's something very homelike about

Ashness. Perhaps I'm romantic, but I sometimes feel as if your father was

still at the old house. It's kind and quiet--like him. Don't you think

people can leave an influence, Kit?"

"Yours will last. So far, I haven't had much quietness."

"I'm afraid I've come to bother you again. I hate to bother you, but

somehow trouble seems to follow me."

"Your troubles are mine," Kit said and stroked her head. "Tell me

about it."

Grace told him, and although he said nothing, waited calmly. His face was

thoughtful but the silence was not awkward; she felt that it was marked

by an intimate confidence.

"Kit," she resumed at length, "I don't know if you can help, or if you

ought. You must decide, dear. I just wanted to tell you, and I'm

comforted."

"I can help," Kit answered quietly. "People abroad have paid some debts I

didn't expect to get and I'm richer than I thought." He paused and mused

for a moment or two. "It's strange the thing should happen now. When I

came home I imagined Ashness would occupy all my time, but I soon began

to feel I hadn't scope enough. You see, I'd been with Adam and he was a

hustler. Well, it looks as if I had found a new field."

"You mean you might buy Tarnside?"

"Yes. I think the estate might be made to pay. High farming's a risky

business in our climate and we have been satisfied to spend little and

get a small return. I think there's a better plan than that; if one uses

modern methods and can invest the capital. However, I see an obstacle to

my buying Tarnside."

"Father?" Grace suggested. "Well, I'm afraid he would never be economical

and he likes to rule. But I didn't mean, Kit, that you should give him

money to squander."

"I know," said Kit gently, although his face was rather stern. "Adam's

legacy must not be wasted in extravagance. Then, you see, Tarnside ought

to have been Gerald's; but he's ruled out--"

Grace looked up. "Yes, Kit. Now you have given him a fresh start, he may

make a useful man, but Tarnside is not for him." She paused and blushed,

but her glance was steady as she went on: "It must be ours, if you buy

it, for us to hold in trust--"

She turned her head and Kit quietly touched her hair. They were silent

for a few moments and then he said, "If the estate is to be properly

managed, my part will need much tact and I'm impatient now and then. But,

we would live at Ashness and your mother would understand my

difficulties."

"She would help. Father's old, Kit, and might be indulged. You would try

not to hurt him, and could consult him about things that didn't matter. I

think he'd be satisfied if you let him imagine he had some control."

Kit smiled. "Very well; we will make the plunge. Tell your father to do

nothing until Hayes moves. The fellow's cunning and it might be better if

he didn't know what we mean to do."

He bent down and kissed her and she pressed her face against his hand.

"Kit, you're wonderful. Things get done when you come on the scene, but

perhaps you're nicest when they're done for me. After all, I am an Osborn

and would have hated to let Tarnside go; let's plan what we can do when

it belongs to us."

For a time they engaged in happy talk, but Kit reopened his account books

when Grace went home. It looked as if he were about to make a rash

plunge, because he would not have much money left when he had carried out

his plans. However, he could guard against the worst risks and on the

whole imagined the venture ought to pay.

Some weeks later, Osborn sent for him and on reaching Tarnside he was

shown into the library. Mrs. Osborn was with her husband and there was a

bundle of papers on the big table.

"I have got the particulars you wanted," Osborn said. "Hayes will arrive

in half an hour, but that should give us time enough."

Kit nodded. "Yes, I want a few minutes."

When he had studied the documents he looked up. Tarnside would soon be

his and he glanced about the library with a new curiosity. Although the

day was dark and rain beat upon the high windows, the light was strong

enough to show the fine modeling of the old and shabby furniture. It was

a noble room and with well used money could be given a touch of

stateliness; but there was something cold and austere about Tarnside,

while Ashness was homelike and warm. His short survey strengthened Kit's

half-conscious feeling that he belonged to the farm and not the Hall.

"Two things are obvious," he remarked. "The mortgages must be wiped off;

and when other debts have been paid, the rents of the land I'm willing to

redeem ought to keep you going, if they're economically used."

"I doubt it," Osborn rejoined. "So far, the rent of the whole estate have

failed to do so."

"They will do so now," Kit said rather dryly, "That is, if I'm to free

the land. But you must decide if you will help or not."

He looked at Mrs. Osborn, who made a sign of agreement "There will be

enough, Kit. Indeed, in some ways, we shall be better off than we were."

"You have pluck," said Kit, and turned to Osborn, knowing he must be

firm. "The house and grounds will be yours to use as you like and the

farmers will bring their complaints and requests first to you. You will

be the acknowledged landlord and I shall be glad of your advice; but the

expenditure will be controlled by me."

Osborn did not reply, but Mrs. Osborn said, "It is a generous offer."

Kit waited, conscious of some suspense, for he doubted if Osborn's pride

was quite humbled yet. He did not want to humble him, but, for the sake

of Grace and her mother, did not mean to let him wreck his plans. After a

few moments Osborn looked up.

"It is a hard choice, but you have taken the proper line and I'm

resigned," he said. "After all, I have had my day, and although luck has

been against me, cannot claim that I have used it well. Besides, I'm not

robbing Gerald by agreeing to your plan; Gerald robbed himself and me."

He paused and went on with some emotion: "Very well, I'm ready to

abdicate, and thank you for trying to save my feelings by giving me

nominal control."

There was nothing more of much importance to be said, and with the object

of banishing the strain, Kit began to talk about improving some of the

farms. Osborn did not help him much, but he kept it up until Hayes

arrived. The latter seemed surprised to see Kit and hesitated when Osborn

indicated a chair.

"Mrs. Osborn will stay, and I brought Mr. Askew to meet you."

"As you like," said Hayes, who looked annoyed, but sat down and took

out some documents. "You have had formal notice that repayment of these

loans is due, and it would be an advantage to make arrangements for

taking up the other mortgages that will soon run out. Some time since, I

made you an offer that you refused."

"That is so," Osborn agreed. "Your offer is still unacceptable. What are

you going to do?"

"I must advertise the mortgaged farms for public sale, and when arrears

of interest, various charges, and smaller loans are deducted, there will

probably be nothing left. The rest is not my business, but I have managed

the estate and do not see how you can carry on."

"It is not your business, and Mr. Askew has a plan."

Hayes smiled as he turned to Kit. "You may perhaps resent my advice, but

I think it's sound; you would be rash to meddle. A small sum would be

swallowed up and make no difference. You would be poorer and Mr. Osborn

would not gain."

"That's obvious, if the sum were small," Kit agreed. "But how much do you

expect to get if you sell the farms?"

He nodded when Hayes told him. "A fair estimate! I think we can take it

as the proper price. You mean to buy the farms in, but I want them too,

and if you force a sale, I'll bid higher."

"Can you bid against me?" Hayes asked with something of a sneer.

"I'll answer that afterwards. In the meantime, let me state that I want

the other farms when the mortgages run out. You can fight me, if you

like, but I don't think it will pay you, and if we run prices up Mr.

Osborn will gain. Very well, here's my offer to buy up all his debts."

He gave a document to Hayes, who studied it with surprise. "I presume

you're serious?" the latter said with an effort. "You are rasher than I

thought if you can make this offer good."

"I can certainly make it good. You had better apply to the bank manager

if you have doubts."

For a few moments Hayes studied Kit, who looked quietly resolute. Then he

said, "You are determined to oppose me if I don't consent?"

"Yes," said Kit. "I mean to buy all the land Mr. Osborn has pawned. If

you want it, you'll have to pay the price I fix, since it must be a

public sale. Don't you think it would be prudent to accept my offer?"

Hayes clenched his fist, but with an effort preserved his self-control.

"I am forced to agree."

"Very well. Take the documents to my lawyers and as soon as they are

satisfied I'll give you a check."

Hayes nodded silently, and bowing to Mrs. Osborn went out. When he had

gone, Osborn got up.

"We have not been good friends--Kit," he said with some emotion. "Old

prejudices are hard to conquer, but mine have broken down at last--you

have beaten me. Well, I suppose I would not admit that the code I clung

to had gone for good, but now I'm dropping out, I don't know that I could

find a better man to step into my place." He paused and gave Kit his

hand. "After all, Tarnside is not lost to us. Grace will follow me--she

belongs to the new school, but I think your children will rule the old

house well."

Then Mrs. Osborn advanced and kissed Kit, who went out with her and found

Grace waiting in the hall.

"Hayes has gone," Mrs. Osborn remarked. "Kit has forced him to agree, and

your father is reconciled. We have had much trouble, but I think we shall

all be happy yet."

Grace looked up and her eyes shone. "Ah," she said, "I knew long since

that Kit was wonderful! In one way, it wouldn't have mattered if he had

saved Tarnside or not; but now you and father know what a dear he is!"

THE END