The day had almost arrived for Keane's foreclosing. The family had already left Grantley Hall, taking little with them save the family jewellery, pictures, and nick-nacks. Flora had gone to Torquay, Jack was in town, and his father preparing to resume his sword, and once more fight for his country. The eventful morning itself came round. Keane was early at his office. He was in an unusually happy frame of mind. Yet perhaps he had a few slight "stoun's" of conscience, for over and over again he talked to Richards, bringing up the subject next his heart, and excusing himself. "I had to do it--I had to do it," he said. "Pity for the poor Mackenzies. But the general was so improvident, and what could I do?" "Most improvident," replied Richards, smiling quietly over his ledger nevertheless. As the day wore away, Keane fidgeted more and more, and often looked at the clock. "Another hour," he said, half aloud, "only another hour." Richards looked at the clock too, and he often glanced uneasily towards the door. What was going to happen? "Only half-an-hour." This from Keane. "You seem pleased," said Richards dryly. Rat, tat--bang, bang, at the office door. Both men looked up; Richards with a sigh of relief, Keane with gray face and flashing eyes. Enter a tall, good-looking clerk, hat in one hand, a bundle of papers in the other. He was a stranger to Keane. "_Re_ the mortgage on estate of General Grant Mackenzie, I've come to pay it off." Old Keane grew grayer and grayer in face, and foam appeared on his lips. He could not speak. Richards slipped out and away. He went out, and went down the street, positively laughing aloud, so that people turned smilingly round to look after him. And to pay this mortgage off, the honest fellow had put down the bulk of his fortune, and borrowed thousands besides. The property of Grantley Hall was now virtually his; but _he_ would not foreclose, and the Mackenzies should know nothing about it, for a time at all events. Richards had played his first card, and it was a strong one. He went straight off now to see "his baby," and to continue the fairy story which he had commenced at Grantley Hall. He saw some one else--he saw Mary. Mary was his first lieutenant. It was she who summoned him that evening at the Hall when he entered the room just as Sir Digby was about to propose. A good girl, Mary, and devoted to her "missus." She could keep a secret, too, and she could keep Richards posted, lest Sir Digby should steal a march upon them. But time had rolled on, as we know. There were wars and rumours of wars, disaffection at home and threatened revolution, and last, but not least, as far as our story goes, Sir Digby had been ill, and at the point of death. Keane also had been abroad for his health, and with him his daughter, so that the evil day was postponed. Evil days have a disagreeable habit of coming, nevertheless, in spite of all we can do. * * * * *