Alice gave the order and sat herself down at the desk to answer as briefly as possibly the epistle of Lanyan. It was soon written, and the next moment Stephen Blunt appeared. He came in looking more bent and decrepit than usual, for the sickness of his master was weighing heavy upon him. "Stephen," said the squire faintly, "send one of the servants with that to Lanyan Hall and await a reply." The taciturn, old steward took the missive handed him by Alice, bowed and withdrew. A great load seemed to be removed from the old squire's mind, and he slept peacefully for three hours. By that time the servant had returned with the answer. Alice would have rather read it herself first, but the querulous voice of the squire must not be resisted, and so she passed it unopened to him. He unfolded it with trembling, eager hands, and devoured the few lines written there. His countenance grew paler, and then flushed an angry hue, until the great veins on his brow stood forth like whipcords. "What! What! It can't be so!" he shrieked. He crushed the letter in his hands with rage and was about to fling it from him, but the motion and passion was too much for him, and with a gasp he fell backward--unconscious. The crushed letter dropped from his relaxed hand and fell to the floor, where it remained unnoticed for the time. "To the doctor, quick!" said Stephen Blunt to the servant that was in the room. The servant was down and out in a moment. The same horse that carried him to the Lanyans' was near at hand, and he vaulted into the saddle, and went tearing down the carriage drive. With a shriek of "My father!" Alice fell to the floor in a faint. "Carry her to her rooms! He is not dead! I will not believe it until the doctor comes," said old Stephen Blunt. The servants carried their young mistress to her apartments, while Stephen, murmuring many things to himself, bathed the squire's forehead until the physician came. In a few minutes there was the sound of clattering hoofs on the gravel of the drive-way, then a rapid step on the stairs, and the physician was in the sick man's room. A look and a touch sufficed. "He is past help. It is as I feared--a sudden stroke of apoplexy produced by some shock." He picked up the crumpled letter from the floor, opened it, read it with compressed lips, and placed it in his pocket. The news spread o'er the whole village with the rapidity of wildfire, and by night every man, woman and child knew and sympathised with the bereavement at the Manor, for Squire Vivian was generally liked.