It was all decided.  The interview with Uncle Bernard was over, the last farewells spoken, and the boxes packed in readiness to go to the station.  In less than an hour the Court and its inhabitants would be a thing of the past.

Out of consideration for Mr Farrell’s health, the girls had decided not to tell him of their bad news until the morning.

“He has had enough excitement for one day,” Mollie said; “let him be quiet to-night.  To-morrow morning we will send up mother’s letter for him to read, and ask to see him as soon as possible after breakfast.  That will give him time to think over the situation and decide what to do.  He must guess that we will want to return home, but if he wishes to keep us he can easily do so.  Oh, to think that with a few strokes of the pen he could make us all happy again!  I don’t know how much money the pater needs, but it would probably be the tiniest sum out of Uncle Bernard’s great fortune.  Suppose he offered to send a cheque-suppose he gave us a cheque to send, and all was peace and joy again!  He could-he might-oh, surely he will!  What is the use of being rich if one can’t help people in trouble?”

But Ruth sighed and shook her head.

“Rich people have not much patience with failures, and the poor old pater has not the gift of success.  I am afraid Uncle Bernard will be more inclined to blame than to help.”  And as events proved she was right.

Mr Farrell sent word that he would be at liberty at ten o’clock in the sitting-room adjoining his bedroom, and the first few minutes of the interview proved that his attitude towards the family trouble was one of scornful impatience rather than sympathy.  He was apparently quite unprepared for the girls, determination, and would not at first believe in its sincerity.

“You are surely joking,” he said scathingly.  “If your parents are in such straits as you describe, how do you propose to help them by giving them two more people to keep and feed?  It appears to me that your room would be more valuable than your company.”

Ruth flushed painfully.

“We hope to be able to help, not to hinder.  When a child like Trix has already found work, we ought not to lag behind.  It would be impossible to go on living in the lap of luxury, wearing fine clothes, eating fine meals, being waited upon hand and foot, while our own people are in actual need.”

“Unless-” interrupted Mollie, and then stopped short, while Mr Farrell turned sharply towards her.

“Unless what?  Finish your sentence, if you please.”

“Unless you will help them for us!” gasped Mollie, crimson, but daring.  “It would be so easy for you to lend the pater what he needs, and he would promise to pay you back-we would all promise!  We would work night and day until it was made up.”

Mr Farrell smiled sardonically.

“At last!  I knew it must come.  It would not be Mollie if she had any scruples about asking for what she wanted.  No, my dear, I never lend.  It is against my principles to throw good money after bad.  At the risk of appearing a monster of cruelty, I must refuse to interfere in your stepfather’s affairs.  There are still six weeks of your visit here to run, and I shall be pleased to relieve him of your support for that time; otherwise-”

“We are much obliged, but we have decided to go home.  You wished to be able to judge our characters, and you have had enough time to do so, with very unsatisfactory results, if we are to judge from yesterday’s conversation!” cried Ruth, with a sudden burst of indignation.  “If you can believe us capable of prying into your desk, you will surely not be sorry to get rid of us altogether!”

The old man looked at her long and thoughtfully.

“Yes,” he said quietly, “it’s a pity-a very great pity-that the two things should have happened together.  It is as unsatisfactory to me as to you that you should leave before the culprit has been discovered.  But it is useless now to argue the point if your minds are already made up.  Taking everything into consideration-the peculiar circumstances with regard to my will, your original acceptance of my invitation-do I still understand that you wish to leave me to-day?”

“It is our duty to go home.  Yes, we have quite decided,” said Ruth.

The old man’s eyes turned towards the younger girl.

“And you, Mollie?”

“Yes, uncle; I’m sorry, but we can’t leave mother alone just now.”

Mr Farrell sat silent, his eyebrows lowered, his head hanging forward on his chest, so that it was difficult to see the expression of his face; but the pose of the figure suggested weariness and disappointment.  Suddenly he stretched out his hand and touched an electric bell.  A servant appeared almost immediately, and was asked a hasty question-

“Is Mr Druce still in the house?”

“I believe so, sir.  He was in the morning-room a few minutes ago.”

“Go down and tell him that I should be obliged if he would come up here at once.”

The girls exchanged puzzled glances as the servant departed on his errand; but they did not dare to speak, and, as Mr Farrell relapsed into his former downcast attitude, the silence was broken only by the sound of Victor’s approaching footsteps.  He entered the room confident and smiling, but drew up with a start of surprise at seeing the two girls.  He was evidently disappointed at their presence, and vaguely uneasy; but after the first involuntary movement his features quickly resumed their mask-like calm.

“You sent for me, sir.  Is there anything I can do?”

Mr Farrell raised his head and looked at him thoughtfully.  It was seldom indeed that he allowed himself to show any sign of interest in his young companions, so that this steady scrutiny was the more remarkable.  Even Victor’s composure suffered beneath it, for a tinge of colour crept into his pale cheeks, and he moved uneasily to and fro.

“What is it, sir?” he repeated.  “I hope nothing fresh has happened to distress you.”

“Thank you, Druce.  My plans have been still further upset this morning, as, owing to news received from home, my nieces have decided to leave the Court at once.  That means that three out of the four whom I selected for my experiment have, of their own accord, refused to carry out the conditions.  Under these circumstances, I think it is only right to offer to release you from your promise, if you prefer to return home at the same time.  Everything will be changed, and you may not care to stay on with only myself as a companion.”

Victor’s eyelids dropped, and a quiver of emotion passed over his face.  Ruth saw it, and, with a sinking heart, realised that it resembled exultation rather than grief.  He was silent for a moment, but when he spoke nothing could well have been more dignified and natural than words and manner-

“If it will inconvenience you in any way to entertain me alone, I am, of course, perfectly ready to leave; but if you give me the choice-if it is left to me to decide, sir-I should prefer to keep my promise, and stay for the remainder of the time.  I might perhaps be of some help to you when you are alone.”

The strained expression on Mr Farrell’s face gave place to one of unmistakable satisfaction.

“That is good!” he replied heartily.  “I am glad to find that you at least have some appreciation of the nature of a bargain.  It will be lonely for you, but I am the more obliged for your decision.  I won’t keep you any longer just now, as we shall have other opportunities of conversation, and I have my adieux to make.”

The door closed behind Victor, and Mr Farrell turned immediately towards his eldest grand-niece, as if anxious to get through an ordeal.

“Well, Ruth, I must bid you good-bye.  I trust you will have a pleasant journey, and find matters at home less serious than you anticipate.”

“Thank you, Uncle Bernard.”  Ruth extended a cold little hand, and stood hesitating by his side, while his sunken eyes dwelt upon the face which in feature was so like his own.  “I’ve enjoyed the time-part of the time-more than anything else in my life!  I’m sorry if I have done wrong in any way; I wanted only to please you!”

“For my own sake, or for what I could give?”

The question came sharp and abrupt, and Ruth’s cheeks flamed beneath it.  She hesitated painfully, gathering courage to speak the truth.

“Oh, I know I have been mercenary!  I’m sick of being poor, and I love the Court and the easy, luxurious life.  I wanted the money more than anything in the world; but it’s all over now, and it’s partly your own fault, for you did tempt me!  Please forgive me before I go!”

“I forgive you, Ruth.  It is quite true that I tempted you, and you are not fitted to bear temptation.  But there is no need to bear enmity.  Good-bye!”

He held out his hand again-held it at a distance, and with a formality which forbade a warmer farewell; and Ruth turned away, downcast and miserable.  Those words, “You are not fitted to bear temptation,” seemed to denote that in his mind there still dwelt a lingering suspicion lest she might have yielded to her anxiety to look at the will, and had then lacked the courage for confession.  Well, it was all over, and it was useless to protest.  So perish earthly hopes!

Mr Farrell turned towards his remaining niece.

“Well, Mollie, and so you also are resolved to leave me?”

“There was only one alternative, Uncle Bernard, and you refused it.  If you won’t help mother, we must lose no time in getting to work.  We are breaking no promise, remember.  We said we would stay if she could spare us, and now the time has come when she needs to have us back.”

“You believe you can find work-work which will pay-a child like you, with the plainest of educations?”

“I am sure of it.  I am not going to teach, but I shall be able to do something.  I should be ashamed of myself if I couldn’t-a big, strong creature like me!  I am sorry to go-much more sorry than you will believe!  I’ve been very happy these few weeks.”

“I know you have.  I have known more than you are aware of, perhaps.  But you will not regret your departure so much, as Jack Melland is leaving at the same time.  He has been your special companion, I think.”

The blood flew to Mollie’s cheeks under the scrutiny of the sunken eyes, and, to her consternation, spread even higher and higher, until she was crimson to the roots of her hair.  She tried in vain to answer with composure, but could only stammer confusedly-

“He has been very nice.  I like him the best-better than Mr Druce.  But he decided-we decided,-our reasons for leaving are absolutely independent of each other, Uncle Bernard.”

“I know-I know!”

He turned aside, and remained silent for a few minutes, as if to allow her time to recover composure, then once more held out his hand in farewell.

“Well, good-bye, Mollie.  We also must agree to forgive and forget!”

Mollie bent over his chair, one hand resting on each arm, the embarrassment of a moment before dying a sudden death in the face of a parting which, in the nature of things, must be for ever.

“Uncle Bernard,” she said softly, “if your Ned were alive, and you were in trouble, you would like him to hurry home to you, whatever it might cost!  And if She were alive, and poor and distraught, you would rather he worked for her, than left her that he might fill the greatest post on earth.  Judge us by that thought when you feel inclined to be hard!  I know you don’t like kissing people, so I am going to kiss you instead.  There!  Good-bye; and God bless you!”

She turned away with tears in her eyes, but half-way to the door the sound of her own name made her pause.

“Mollie!” he cried, in a sharp, resolute voice, which sent her heart beating with sudden hope.

But, even as her eyes met his, his expression changed once more.

“No, no; it is better as it is!  I have nothing to say!”

Mollie turned away sadly and walked out of the room.