"Oh, Arthur, I don't know what to say to you; I am so sorry," he exclaimed. "Look here. When the postman came this morning, I happened to be out on the lawn, and he gave me my two letters, as I thought, and as he must have thought too, going on to the hall-door with the rest. I put them into my pocket and forgot them, Arthur: my spectacles were indoors. When I remembered them only just now, I found one was directed to you in Sir Nash's handwriting. I am so sorry," repeated poor Mr. North in his helpless manner. "Don't be sorry, sir," replied Arthur cheerily. "It's nothing; not of the least consequence at all," he added, opening the letter. Nevertheless, as his eyes fell on the contents, a rather startled expression crossed his face. "There!" cried Mr. North. "Something's wrong, and the delay has done mischief." "Indeed nothing's wrong--in the sense you are thinking," repeated Arthur--for he would not have added to the poor old man's troubles for the world. "My uncle says James is not as well as he could wish: he wants me to go up at once and stay with them. You can read it for yourself, sir." Mr. North put on his glasses. "I see, Arthur. You might have gone the first thing this morning, but for my keeping the letter. It was very stupid of the postman to give it to me." Arthur laughed. "Indeed, I should have made no such hurry. There's not the least necessity for that. I think I shall go up this afternoon, though." "Yes, do, Arthur. And explain to Sir Nash that it was my fault. Tell him that I am growing forgetful and useless. Fit only to be cut down, Arthur; only to be cut down." Arthur Bohun put the old man's arm affectionately within his, and took him back to his parlour. If Mr. North had grown old it was with worry, not with years: the worry dealt daily out to him by madam; and Arthur would have remedied it with his best blood had he known how. "You had better go up with me, sir; for a little change. Sir Nash would be glad to see you." "_I_ go up with you! I couldn't, Arthur; I am not equal to it now. And the strike is on, you know, and my place ought to be here while it lasts. The men look upon me still as their master, though Dick--Dick acts. And there's another thing, Arthur--I couldn't leave my roses just as they have come into bloom." Arthur Bohun smiled; the last reason was all powerful. Mr. North stayed behind, and he went up that same afternoon to London. CHAPTER VIII. THE TONTINE. The tontine. If the reader only knew how important a share the tontine--with its results--holds in this little history, he would enter on it with interest.