You will never see her."

"That's true. But she will know why I pay this money."

"Not necessarily. No, she needn't know. I shall tell her I persuaded you. She doesn't know you were so definitely against it. She thinks it was just hanging fire."

The Squire rose from his seat, and went to the empty fireplace, where he took his stand, facing his son.

He looked at him steadily, and said in a quiet but firm voice, "I won't do it, Humphrey."

CHAPTER II

A VERY PRESENT HELP

Virginia among her flowers, in the sweet, old-fashioned retired garden of the Dower House was a sight to refresh the eyes. She was gathering a sheaf of long-stalked May-flowering tulips as Humphrey pushed open the gate leading from the park, and came in.

He was not able to keep all signs of the terrible blow that had been dealt him, and the disappointment that had come of the appeal he had just made to his father, from showing on his face; but he had schooled himself, walking across the park, to a natural bearing. He had to make another effort to avert such ruin and disgrace as would overwhelm him utterly, and make the rest of his life a burden and a reproach.

The sun was setting behind the tall elms that bordered the garden of the Dower House. The rooks were busy with their evening conference.

The westward windows of the ancient, mellowed house were shining.

Peace and hope sat brooding on the fair, home-enchanted place, and a lump sprang up in Humphrey's throat as he came upon it, and saw his brother's wife, so sweet and gracious, protected here and shut in from the ugliness of life, and quietly happy in her seclusion. The contrast between Virginia in her garden, and the desperate wreck of his own married life, was too poignant. He turned round to shut the door in the wall, but by the time she had looked up and seen him he had hardened himself against emotion.

She gave a little cry of pleasure. "Why, Humphrey!" she said, "I had no idea you were here. I am so glad to see you. I am all alone. d.i.c.k has gone up to dine and sleep in London."

The disappointment was so keen that his taut-stretched nerves gave way for a moment, and he felt physically ill.

"Why, what's the matter?" she said. "Is there any bad news? You look dreadful, Humphrey."

He forced a laugh. "I'm not very fit," he said. "But I had made sure of seeing d.i.c.k, about something rather important. When will he be back?"

"To-morrow afternoon. But isn't there anything that I can do? Do tell me, Humphrey. d.i.c.k has no secrets from me, you know."

He was afraid to make any mystery. "Oh, it's only about the keeper, Gotch," he said at once. "Clark is leaving us, and they want to get married. They have both set their hearts on going to Canada, and I came down to see if I could get the Governor to consent to helping them. But he won't do it, and I was going to ask d.i.c.k if _he_ could possibly raise the money."

"Oh, but, Humphrey--easily--if it isn't too much. What do they want?"

"Three hundred pounds--only as a loan. He would pay it back after the first year--in instalments--when he had got himself settled. He has a fine opportunity waiting for him over there. He ought not to miss it.

I do feel that I owe him a lot. That scoundrel would have battered me to death, very likely, if he hadn't come on the scene. I wish to goodness I could give him the money myself. I _could_ raise it, but it would take time. I want to go back to-morrow and tell Clark that it is all settled."

"Oh, you shall, Humphrey. Let me do it for you. I have heaps of money that I don't know what to do with. d.i.c.k won't let me spend a penny on living here. I believe he hates to think he has married a rich woman.

I can write you a cheque now. Come indoors."

The relief was enormous. But many things had to be thought of. It was not only the money he had come for. He could have got that, as he had said, elsewhere, and no sacrifice would have been too great to make for it, if it had been all that was wanted.

"My dear Virginia," he said, "you are generosity itself; but I shouldn't like to take it from you without d.i.c.k knowing of it."

"Oh, I shall tell him, of course. But he won't mind. Why should he?"

"I don't know how he feels about Gotch going. The Governor is up in arms at his wanting to leave Ken cote at all. d.i.c.k may feel the same, for all I know."

She laughed. "Oh, I see," she said. "We are up against the dear old feudal system. I am always forgetting about that; and I do try so hard to be British, Humphrey."

Humphrey smiled. "You'll do as you are," he said. "I think myself that every fellow ought to have his chance. If he sees his way to doing well for himself it isn't fair to expect him to throw it away just because he's your servant, as his fathers were before him."

Virginia's face showed mock horror. "But, Humphrey!" she said, "this is rank Radicalism! _What_! A man who can have as many blankets and as much soup as he likes--to make up for the smallness of his wages--has a right to go off and be his own master! To think that I should hear such words from a Clinton!"

Humphrey could not keep it up. He smiled, but had no light answer ready. "Keepers get quite decent wages," he said, "and the Governor was prepared to put Gotch into that new cottage he's building; do well for him, in fact. That's why he thinks it ungrateful of him to want to go, and won't help in any way. The question is whether d.i.c.k won't feel the same."

"Oh, I think not," she said. "d.i.c.k is getting quite democratic. I, Virginia Clinton, have made him so. Why, the other day he actually said that the will of the people ought to prevail--if we could only find out what it was. He is getting on fast. No, Humphrey, I'm sure d.i.c.k won't mind. If I thought he would, I wouldn't do it--without asking him first. I am going to do it. I _want_ to do it. I like to think of a young man like Gotch, good and strong, going off to carve himself out a place in a new country. You have all been very patient with me, and I love you all dearly, but I shall _never_ come to think that it is a proper life for a man to spend all his days in bringing up birds for other people to kill. Now who shall I make the cheque out to--you or Gotch?"

She was at her writing-table with her cheque-book in front of her, and a pen in her hand. It was difficult to restrain her. But the cheque was not all that Humphrey wanted.

"Wait a minute," he said. "Let's get it right in our minds. Gotch doesn't want charity."

She put down her pen, and her delicate skin flushed. "I shouldn't offer it to him," she said. "I hate charity--the charity of the money-bags."

"Oh, my dear girl!" he said, "I didn't mean to hurt you. We're a clumsy race, you know; we think things out aloud. I was only wondering what would be the best way."

She smiled up at him, standing over her, her momentary offence gone.

"Why, of course," she said. "We must help him without putting him under any obligation. How shall we do it?"

"You see, the money ought to come from the Governor, or d.i.c.k. If you or I were to give it him, and they had no hand in it, he would be leaving Kencote under a sort of cloud. He wouldn't want that, and I shouldn't like it for him. And I don't want the money to come from me.

That would look as if I thought a money payment would be a suitable acknowledgment of what he did in coming to my rescue."

There was more earnestness in his voice than his words seemed to warrant. Virginia looked a little puzzled. But her brow cleared again. Perhaps this was only one of those little niceties of feudal honour which she never did and never would understand.

"Well then, I'll tell you what I'll do," she said. "Let us go to Gotch together, and I'll give him my cheque and tell him that it comes from d.i.c.k, who is away."

He breathed deeply. "Are you sure d.i.c.k won't mind?" he asked.

"Quite sure. He said the other day that Gotch ought to be allowed to go if he wanted to."

"Did he really say that, Virginia?"

"Yes, it was when your father settled that the other man should have the new cottage. No, d.i.c.k won't mind. By the bye, are you sure that Mr. Clinton won't? If he objects to Gotch going----"

"He objects to helping him to go. I told him I should ask d.i.c.k."

"What did he say?"

"He said he should wash his hands of it."

"Oh, then, that's all right. Here is the cheque; we'll go and find Gotch, and give it him, and wish him joy. There is just time before dinner."

"Virginia," said Humphrey devoutly, "you are an angel."

That night Humphrey and his father sat up late together.