The Man

to Cambridge. She enjoyed the trip very much; indeed,

opportunity of bringing Harold alone into his study. He spoke to

re than pleased, my boy, with the way you have gone through college; it is, I am sure, just as your dear fat

ght he would like; and what you would

al order of things you would go into a profession; and of course if you so desire you can do that. But if you can see your way to it I would rather that you stayed here. My house is your home as long as I live; but I don't wish you to feel in any way dependent. I want you to stay here if you will; but to do it just be

acious way of doing it. There were tears in his eyes as he wrun

ve and loyalty. If I don't say much it is because I do not feel quite master of mys

nths every one accepted the order of things; and life at Normanstand went on much as it had done before Harold had gone to college. There was a man in the house now instead of a boy: that was all. Stephen too was beginning to be a young woman

ng for a drive, and when Rowly came flying up the avenue in his T-cart with three magnificent bays, Stephen ran out on the top of the steps to see him draw up. Rowly was a fine whip, and his horses felt it. Squire Norman was ready, and, after a kiss from Stephen, climbed into the high cart. The men

ly day before her set herself to take up loose-ends of all sorts of little personal

Squire Rowly in his T-cart. He rode on fast, thinking that perhaps he might overtake them and ride on with them. But the bays knew their work, and did it. They kept their start; it was only at t

ists to the left again, making a double curve, and then runs to Norling Parva in a clear stretch of some miles before reaching the sharp turn down

ted road-mender, surrounded by some gaping peasants, pointing excitedly

?' he asked

wind. Squire he had his reins all right, but they 'osses didn't seem to mind 'un. They was fair mad and

horses in a light cart made for pace, all bolting in fright, might end any moment in calamity. Never in his life did he ride faster than on the road to Norling Parva. Far ahead of him he could see at the turn, now and again, a figure running. Som

eyes aflame in his wh

t on its side with broken shafts. The horses were prancing and stamping about

rown furthest. His head had struck the milestone that stood back on the waste ground before the ditch. There was no need for any one to

k so dreadful as Rowly, but there were signs of coming death in the stertorous breathing, the ooze of blood from nostrils and ears as well as mouth. Harold knelt down

quick glance having satisfied him that there was only one patient requiring his care. Harold stood up and waited. Th

Should his daughte

ld it take he

our; she would not

ad better s

arold, turning to jump on his ho

It seemed to Harold that a great bell was sounding in his ears.-'Before the end! Good God! Poor Stephen!' . . . But this was no time for sorrow, or for thinking of

tantly. Tell her that there has been an accident; that her father is alive, but that she must come at once without a moment'

from its hinges and held it in readiness, to bring it closer. Then under his direction the Squire was placed on the gate. The nearest house was only about a hundred

ressure, however, and he may recover consciousness before he dies. You had better be close to him. There is at present n

s eyes, and seeing him said

ce is thi

, sir. You were brought

Am I badly hurt? I

r! I have sent

t to die?' His voice, though

his knees as he spoke and took hi

it c

es

ove and blessing! Say that with my last breath I prayed G

or the emotion which was choking him. The

er, will you not? Guard her and cherish her, as

few seconds which seemed an interminable time.

ath. But give her time! I trust that to you! She is young, and the world is all before her. Let her choose . . . and be loyal to her if it is another! It may be a hard task, but I trust

God grant that she may be in time. I k

stopped

om. With the soft agility of a leopard she threw herself on her knees beside her father and put her arms round him. The d

ve been all your life a joy and a delight to me! I shall tell your mother when I meet her al

de Stephen. He put his arm round her; and she, turning to him, lai

*

half-sister, and that it was fitting that, as Stephen would be the new Squire of Norwood, her dust should in time lie by his. When the terrib

spair. Of course she had been helped by the fact that Harold had been with her, and she was grateful for that too. But it did no

t Laetitia could give was

t Normanstand. Stephen wanted her;

ame to Normanstand every day. Stephen had so long been accustomed to consulting him about everything that ther

fore the coming of the tragedy. But for a long time Stephen had occasional b

herself by day or by night. With swift intuition she grasped the needs of any ill

er duty as a woman. The old lady began to secretly hope, and almost to believe,

as well as its direction. And did the older woman whose life had been bound under more order