Poor Mr. North could afford to be happy to-day, and for many days to come. Bessy also. Madam had relieved them of her presence yesterday, and gone careering off to Paris with her daughter. They hoped she might be away for weeks. In the seductive freedom of the home, Richard North had stayed late that morning. Mr. North was just beginning to talk with him, when some one called on business, and Richard shut himself up with the stranger. The morning had gone on; the interview was prolonged; but Richard was coming out now. Mr. North put down the rake. "Has Wilson gone, Richard?" "Yes, sir." "What did he want? He has stayed long enough." "Only a little business with me, father," was Richard's answer in his filial care. It had not been agreeable business, and Richard wished to spare his father. "And now for Bessy, sir?" he resumed, as they paced side by side amongst the sweet-scented roses. "You were beginning to speak about her." "Yes, I want to talk to you. Bessy would be happier with Rane than she is here, Dick." Richard looked serious. He had no objection whatever to his sister's marrying Oliver Rane: in fact, he regarded it as an event certain to take place, sooner or later; but he did not quite see that the way was clear for it yet. "I have no doubt of that, father." "And I think, Dick, she had better go to him now, whilst we are at liberty to do as we please at home." "Now!" exclaimed Richard. "Yes; now. That is before madam comes back again. Poor Edmund is only just put under the sod; but--considering the circumstances--I think the memory of the dead must give place to the welfare of the living." "But how about ways and means, sir?" "Ay: how about ways and means. Nothing can be spared from the works at present, I suppose, Dick." "Nothing to speak of, sir." Mr. North had felt ashamed even to ask the question. In fact, it was more a remark than a question, for he knew as well as Richard did that there was no superfluous money to draw upon. "Of course not, Dick. Rane gets just enough to live upon now, and no more. Yesterday, after madam and Matilda had driven off, I was at the front-gates when Rane passed. So he and I got talking about Bessy. He said his income was small now, but that of course it would considerably augment as soon as Alexander had left. As he and Bessy are willing to try it, I don't see why they should not do so, Dick." Richard gave no immediate reply. He had a rose in his hand and was looking at it absently, deep in thought. His father continued: "It's not as if Rane had no expectations whatever. Two hundred a-year must come to him at his mother's death. And--Dick--have you any idea how Mrs. Gass's will is left?" "Not the least, sir." "Oliver Rane is the nearest living relative to her late husband, Mrs. Cumberland excepted. He is Thomas Gass's own nephew--and all the money was his. It seems to me, Dick, that Mrs. Gass is sure to remember him: perhaps largely." "She may do so."