I had worked steadily at my profession for two years, and was just considering whether I had not earned the right to take a real good long holiday at Lilyfields (where Violet, now a fine girl of seven years old, was still my favourite plaything), when I received a letter from the doctor of the village—desiring me to come home at once as my father was ill, beyond hope of recovery. I knew what that meant—that he was already gone; and when I arrived at Lilyfields I found it to be true; he had died of an attack of the heart after a couple of hours’ illness. The shock to me was very great. I had never loved my father as I did my mother; the old childish recollections had been too strong for that, but the last few years he had permitted me to be very happy, and I knew that to _her_ his loss must be irreparable. Not that she exhibited any violent demonstration of grief. When I first saw her, I was surprised at her calmness. She sat beside my father’s body, day and night, without shedding a tear; and she spoke of his departure as quietly as though he had only gone on a journey from which she fully expected him to return. But though her eyes were dry, they never closed in sleep, and every morsel of colour seemed to have been blanched out of her face and hands. So the first day passed, and when the second dawned, I, having attained the dignity of eighteen years, thought it behoved me to speak of my late father’s affairs and my mother’s future. ‘Where is father’s will, mother?’ ‘He never made one, dear!’ ‘Never made a will! That was awfully careless.’ ‘Hush, Charlie!’ She would not brook the slightest censure cast on her dead love. ‘But there _must_ be a will, mother.’ ‘Darling, there is none! It was the one thought that disturbed his last moments. But I am content to let things be settled as they may.’ ‘Lilyfields will be yours of course, and everything in it,’ I answered decidedly. ‘No one has a better right to them than you have. And you and Violet will live here to your lives’ end, won’t you?’ ‘Don’t ask me, dear Charlie, don’t think of it—not just yet at least! Let us wait until—until—it is all over, and then decide what is best to be done!’ Before it was all over; matters were decided for us.