Soon after Guy's birth, Mr. Egerton had a severe illness—acute rheumatic fever—and it aged him terribly. His hair grew grey, and this, with his stooping figure, made him look quite old—very much older than did his father, who still flourished at Egerton Highfield. When Mr. Egerton recovered, he told his wife that he intended to let the farm, either for grazing, or, what they call in Ireland, by con-acre: which means that several poor men join to take a field, of which each of them cultivates his own proportion.
"I cannot struggle on any longer, Elise," he said. "I lose by everything I undertake, and I can get thirty shillings an acre for the moorfields, and forty for about twenty acres. And there will always be the house and garden—though, indeed, the latter is of no value to us."
Elise saw her opportunity.
"Do not let the garden on any account, Mr. Egerton," she said eagerly, "nor the lawn."
"The lawn!" he repeated. "Why, there are eight acres in the lawn. I think I had better let it. The children can play there as usual, you know."
"Yes; but I could keep a cow, Mr. Egerton, and other things. And what shall I do without milk for the children? Leave me the lawn, the garden, and the peat bog, and let me do the best I can. You know I am not a helpless fine lady; I know about these things, and Katty will help me. Aymer is growing fast, and he is very strong; he will soon be of use: and as so much of what you will get for the land must go to pay the interest on our debts, I must work for the children."
Mr. Egerton looked nearly as black as his father could have done, and he answered very coldly, "You really think that you are likely to succeed where I have failed?"
This was exactly what Elise did think, but she only answered gently,—
"I do not mean to attempt so much, you know; and I was born among such work, and know about it."
"I had hoped you had forgotten that. You might at least let me forget it."