"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