Judith considered this thoughtfully.
“What became of his money?” she asked.
“Years ago,” replied Mr. Ferguson, slowly, “I was employed as Jonathan Eliot’s trusted advisor. That was when he owned a large estate and commanded ample means. He was not a generous man, in those days, but grudged every necessary expenditure his family made. After his wife’s death and Molly’s marriage, he came to me one day and said that all his money had been swept away in an unlucky speculation, and he would no longer be able to employ me. He refused to answer any questions as to the manner of his loss. Mr. Spaythe told me, about that time, that Mr. Eliot had drawn all his money from the bank, taking it in gold coin. Your uncle discharged all the servants except Elaine, shut up most of the house, and offered his estate for sale. He lived quite frugally, I learned, and was doubtless very poor. Bit by bit he sold off the lands, until only the house and its garden remained. There is no mortgage on the place, however. Wallace Daring offered to assist his father-in-law, but Eliot irritably refused. They quarrelled soon afterward, as you perhaps know.”
“But I don’t quite understand,” said Judith. “Even if he lost all his ready money, the land must have brought a large sum. What became of that?”
“It squared his debts, I suppose. The old man confided his affairs to no one. He was suspicious of even his own daughter. Then suddenly he became paralyzed, and I went to see if I could be of any help to my old client. Elaine told me she had searched everywhere, without finding a dollar. Until then I had harbored the thought that your uncle had become a miser, for his nature inclined that way; so I examined the house myself, looking high and low in every possible place for any secreted cash or securities, or even for papers that would explain what had become of his money, or account for his impoverished condition. But there was nothing of the sort to be discovered. I am thoroughly satisfied that Jonathan Eliot is as poor as he claims to be.”
Judith sighed.
“The house and lot must be worth considerable,” she said, hesitatingly.
“It might bring a fair price if offered for sale,” said he, “but it would not be advisable to dispose of the place until the Darings grow to maturity. Before that time arrives it is probable old Jonathan Eliot will have passed away and be laid in that ridiculous big white mausoleum he once constructed. Then his grandchildren will inherit the property. While he lives, moreover, we could not sell the place if we desired to, unless we managed to prove Mr. Eliot mentally deficient.”
“Isn’t he?”
“No; not in the eye of the law. Elaine can arouse him whenever she pleases. Indeed, we must consider it fortunate, Judith, that this strange woman is content to care for him. I am sure she makes him as comfortable as is possible.”