"Your grandfather!"
Villiers sat down beside her and took her hand in his own.
"Dear cousin," he said, "our poor grandfather is dead. You know about the letter that poor Uncle Guy sent him—I think it was in your writing. Well, when it came, he read it quietly enough; quite calmly, in fact, and told us,—
"'My younger son, Guy, is dead.'
"And though we thought he looked pale and ill, he never gave in a bit or made any further remark about it. But two days afterwards, he died quite suddenly—he was not ill for more than a few minutes, and we all believe that it was suppressed agitation—the unnatural strain it must have been—that killed him. I was with him, of course. He hardly spoke; but once, with a great effort, he made a few words plain.
"'Villiers, you'll find a letter in my desk—see to it.'
"And that letter, Clarice, contains an order on his bankers for one thousand pounds, and it is directed to Aymer."
"Oh, Villiers! And Aymer was to leave us to-morrow and go alone to Now Zealand. Now we can all go together, as we used to plan it."
Then she added, sorrowfully, "I think I am very hard-hearted, to rejoice over it, and never care for poor Sir Aymer. He wished to be kind at last, you see."
The others came in presently, and were told the news—good news, as they could not help feeling it to be.