He never spoke again; he passed away in quiet sleep, utterly worn out. Aymer posted the letter the next day, merely writing beneath his father's trembling signature, "My father died a few hours after dictating this letter."
No answer was received, but the letter was not sent bank torn in two.
Between the scanty remains of the "beloved bag" and what was realised by the sale of furniture and stock, enough money was raised to take Aymer out, alone, to New Zealand.
Guy undertook the care of the others, assisted, of course, by what Helen and Clarice could earn, until among them they could save enough for passage-money and outfit again.
Lizzie and Donald, however, begged to have Frank and Agnes left with them until that time should come. And it was so plainly the best plan for the children, that the rest consented, though the parting was a very hard matter.
As soon as all their affairs at Ballintra were arranged, the four Egertons went to London. Everything was soon ready for Aymer's departure; another day, and he would leave them.
Mrs. Browne had contrived to spare another bedroom rather than lose her lodgers, so Clarice was sitting in her old place in the little parlour sewing buttons on Aymer's shirts, and damaging their stiffness by crying over them, when the door opened, and some one came gently in. She did not look round, because she was trying to dry her eyes unperceived, when the new-comer said, laying a hand on her shoulder,—
"What, crying, Cousin Clarice? And won't you even look at me, after this long time that we have never met?"
"Why, Villiers! Is this really you? Oh, how glad I am to see you! But I'm afraid you ought not to be here."
"Why, Clarice?"