"Oh, certainly. I think there is no doubt of that. I was waiting for the man to go, and went in almost before he was out of the house." "Well?" "And I found your father quite prostrated." "Not on the floor?" "No, not exactly on the floor. He was still seated on his chair, but his head was on the table, over his arms." "I have often found him in that way, mother." "But you never saw him looking as he looked this morning, Herbert. When I went in he was speechless, and he remained so, I should say, for some minutes." "Was he senseless?" "No; he knew me well enough, and grasped me by the hand; and when I would have gone to the bell to ring for assistance, he would not let me. I thought he would have gone into a fit when I attempted it." "And what did you do?" "I sat there by him, with his hand in mine, quite quietly. And then he uttered a long, deep sigh, and--oh, Herbert!" "Well, mother?" "At last, he burst into a flood of tears, and sobbed and cried like a child." "Mother!" "He did, so that it was piteous to see him. But it did him good, for he was better after it. And all the time he never let go my hand, but held it and kissed it. And then he took me by the waist, and kissed me, oh, so often. And all the while his tears were running like the tears of a girl." And Lady Fitzgerald, as she told the story, could not herself refrain from weeping. "And did he say anything afterwards about this man?" "Yes; not at first, that is. Of course I asked him who he was as soon as I thought he could bear the question. But he turned away, and merely said that he was a stupid man about some old London business, and that he should have gone to Prendergast. But when, after a while, I pressed him, he said that the man's name was Mollett, and that he had, or pretended to have, some claim upon the city property." "A claim on the city property! Why, it's not seven hundred a year altogether. If any Mollett could run away with it all, that loss would not affect him like that." "So I said, Herbert; not exactly in those words, but trying to comfort him. He then put it off by declaring that it was the consciousness of his inability to see any one on business which affected him so grievously." "It was that he said to me." "And there may be something in that, Herbert." "Yes; but then what should make him so weak, to begin with? If you remember, mother, he was very well,--more like himself than usual last night." "Oh, I observed it. He seemed to like having Clara Desmond there." "Didn't he, mother? I observed that too. But then Clara Desmond is such a sweet creature." The mother looked at her son as he said this, but the son did not notice the look. "I do wonder what the real truth can be," he continued. "Do you think there is anything wrong about the property in general? About this estate, here?" "No, I don't think that," said the mother, sadly.