"That is the key of your father's room at Princes Buildings," he said, putting it on the table. "There are two locks. Clisson, the head clerk, has the key of one and this is the other. You are free to walk straight in when you like, but it would be best to send Clisson a wire you are coming and he would bring you the day's business, your private affairs that is, precisely as he used to bring it to your father." This time, because he was looking intently at the young man, he saw his mouth tighten at that term and felt a resigned wonder thereat. Christopher took up the key and looked at it, thinking of all the doors in the world it would unlock for him, thinking of the powers of which it was a symbol, of how it fastened the door of his freedom and opened for him the door of a great servitude of which he was already proud. Mr. Saunderson also was silent a moment listening to his own thoughts and looking at Christopher with misgivings. "Will you live at Stormly Park?" he asked airily. "I expect so. It is not let, is it?" Mr. Saunderson permitted himself a little smile of superiority as he answered. "Everything has been kept just ready for you these two years. But it will hardly be to your taste. Perhaps you will like it done up--altered?" Christopher shook his head. "Not yet." "You can afford it, you know." At that the young man suddenly faced him, as if he meant to say something of importance, and stopped. "Yes, I suppose I can afford it," he returned, and added with apparent irrelevance, "Do you happen to know Stormly village, Mr. Saunderson?" "I've driven through it." Christopher nodded. "So have I. I'll not detain you any longer. Will you let Clisson know I shall be there on Thursday?" "Certainly. Will you like me to accompany you?" Christopher shook his head. "Not this time, I think. I would rather be alone." "And one thing," Mr. Saunderson coughed a little nervously, "the name? We can arrange the legal identification this afternoon, but what name will you ultimately take?" Christopher came to a standstill at the door. Here was a decision thrust on him for which he was oddly unprepared. He recognised at once it meant setting the seal to his own committal if he answered as the lawyer evidently expected and hoped he would do. He paused just long enough to remember how hardly he had taken Mr. Aston's insistence he should sign his marriage register as Aston Masters. "I must take the name since I take its belongings," he said ruefully, and Mr. Saunderson felt his victory was complete. On the following Thursday morning there was nothing in the aspect of earth or sky to indicate to the workers in Princes Buildings the importance of that day to their respective fortunes. On the top floor only a sense of gentle expectancy was present, and a complacent faith in their own readiness to receive and set at ease the young man who was to be the outward visible sign of all that for which they toiled so unceasingly.