you, Raymond. O Raymond!" Salome said, "father is dying! Mr. Stone has telegraphed for Dr. Scott, but he has no hope."

Raymond's lip quivered, and the real boy-nature asserted itself. "I wish I had not taken Captain," he said. "Where's mother?"

"In the library. He was seized with this fit while I was with him there. He could not bear the dreadful blow which has fallen on him."

"Blow! What do you mean?"

"I forgot," Salome said simply. "Father has lost all his money, and we shall have nothing."

"What nonsense! We shall have this house, and—"

"Oh no, Raymond! The house and everything in it will have to be sold. But oh! what is that—what is that to—losing father?" and Salome covered her face with her hands and wept bitterly.

"I say, Salome, don't take on like this," said Raymond in a strangely husky and unnatural voice. "There is some mistake, depend upon it. Things can't be as bad as that. Why, what am I to do, if I can't go back to Eton?"

Ah, there was the sting to the undisciplined, selfish nature,—"What am I to do?"

Salome turned away and went back to keep her sorrowful vigil by her mother's side.

The next week was like a terrible dream to Salome. The dreaded news of the stoppage of the Central Bank came, as had been expected; but Mr. Wilton died unknowing that his worst fears had been realized, and that all was lost. He was laid to rest in the pretty churchyard of Maplestone just one week after the blow had fallen, and his widow and children were left desolate.

Uncle Loftus had arrived, as Miss Barnes had expected. He had not remained all through the sad week,—while the sunshine reigned without, and darkness and dreariness within Maplestone Court,—but he returned for the funeral; and the same evening he sat in consultation with Mr. Calvert, the lawyer, and Mr. De Brette, with the partners of the great timber concern which had collapsed in the general and widespread pressure of the time. Mr. Wilton's case was rendered far worse by the loss of a large private income derived from shares in the Central Bank. There was literally nothing left to his children but his heavy liabilities and his wife's small settlement.

"Under three hundred a year," Dr. Loftus Wilton said; "and with all their previous habits and way of life, this will be little enough. My sister-in-law is not a strong woman, and has had her own way, poor thing—I mean she has been blessed with a very indulgent husband."

"I suppose the eldest boy can earn his living," Mr. De Brette said; "he is over seventeen."

"He ought to do so. We must get him into an office. Perhaps, when the concern is wound up, Mr. Ferguson may find him a berth when a fresh start is made."

"A fresh start!" exclaimed Mr. Ferguson; "that will never be, as far as I am concerned. I should think a clerkship in a bank would be better."

"I think you ought to see Raymond," Dr. Loftus Wilton said; "he is his father's representative, and everything should be laid before him. Then there is the eldest girl, close on sixteen; a little creature, but full of nerve and sense. Shall we call them?"

The gentlemen seemed doubtful; and Mr. De Brette said,—

"Poor things! I think we had better leave it to you to tell them what must happen. The house will realize a good deal," he added, looking round; "fine pictures, and everything in good order. The cellar, too, must be valuable—poor Wilton's wine was always of the choicest."

"Yes, poor fellow. My brother lived up to the mark, perhaps a little too much so; but who was to foresee such a calamity as this?"

After a little more discussion the party broke up,—the lawyer gathering together the papers and Mr. Wilton's will with a half sigh, as he said,—

"This is so much waste paper now. It is a melancholy story, and there are hundreds like it. Nothing but losses all round."

Dr. Loftus Wilton strolled out into the grounds when he was left alone. He would put off talking to the children till the next day, he thought, and there was no immediate necessity to do so. He was sorry for them; but he had a large family, and a hard fight to provide for them out of a professional income as a doctor in a fashionable watering-place, where much was required in the way of appearance, and people were valued very much by what they wore, and very little by what they were. The summer was always a flat time at Roxburgh, and hence Dr. Loftus Wilton could better afford the time away from his practice. "There are good schools at Roxburgh for the small boys, and the two girls could get advantages," he thought; "but then Anna will not trouble herself about poor Arthur's family. In fact, she would not care to have them there. Still, I must do my duty. She and Emily never did hit it off. Anna thought she patronized her; and now it would be the other way, poor things." And then Dr. Wilton lighted another cigar and paced up and down the garden, till at last he found himself on the wooden bridge, and in the stillness of the summer evening heard voices. He went on, and came upon the lake, on the bank of which three black figures were sitting—Salome and her two elder brothers. The opportunity was too good to be lost, and knocking the ashes off his cigar end, Dr. Wilton descended, saying,—

"The very people I wanted to see.—Here, Reginald, my boy, stop—Raymond, I mean."

But Raymond, at the sight of his uncle, had suddenly left his seat, and, with his hands in his pockets, had disappeared in the tangled shrubbery which led away from the lake on the other side.

Reginald, however, stopped when his uncle called, and Salome, rising, said,—

"Did you want us, Uncle Loftus?" The pale, tear-stained face and little slight figure, in its black, sombre dress, touched Dr. Wilton.

"Yes, my dear; I came to talk with you and your eldest brother, as—well, as reasonable people. Sit down, Salome," and he drew her towards him on the bench.

"You know, my dear," he began, "you know you will have to leave Maplestone at once,—the sooner for all of you the better, I think,—for the place is in the possession of your poor father's creditors. Now, my dear, listen to me."

"I am listening, Uncle Loftus," Salome said.

"I cannot do much for you, for I have a large family and many expenses; but I have been thinking Roxburgh would be a good place for you all to live in. The small boys could go to school, and—"

"I mean to teach Carl and Hans, Uncle Loftus. There are Raymond and Reginald. Reginald is not fourteen."

"Oh, well, Reginald must have a year or two more, I suppose. But Raymond is well over sixteen; he must work for his living."

"And there is Ada, Uncle Loftus,—she must go on with her lessons."

"My dear, I am afraid must is a word we shall have to leave alone now. It is what you can afford out of your poor mother's income, not what you must have. Now I want you to ask her what she thinks of my plan. If she approves it, I will look for a small furnished lodging, somewhere in Roxburgh, and I will speak to your Aunt Anna—only you must get your mother's mind about it first. I shall see her to-morrow before I leave, and you can prepare her for my proposition. You must take heart, my dear. Things may brighten."

"Nothing can bring father back," said Salome passionately. "I could bear anything if only I had him. To have worked so hard for us, and then to die ruined and broken-hearted!"