“So we have been; but we have postponed our departure from day to day, from reluctance to leave the country,” replied the young man. “But the height of the season will soon be over. The weather will grow warm and London intolerable. Much as I should desire for my own sake to detain you here, I should advise you not to delay your departure.” “But we don’t want to go at all! And we were not going for the sake of the season, anyhow. And it depends on you, Mr. Campbell, whether we go or not!” exclaimed Judy, taking the initiative and breaking right into the midst of the matter. “On me, Mrs. Hay!” inquired Mr. Campbell, with a puzzled air. “Ran, tell him!” commanded Judy. And then Randolph Hay confided to James Campbell the story of his own and Judy’s neglected education, and their plans for remedying their defects, and ended by diffidently proposing that the minister should, if he pleased, become the director of their studies. “I fear that my petition is a most presumptuous one, sir; but I hope and trust that you will not consider it offensive. If so, I pray you to pardon me.” “My young friend, on the contrary, your proposal is both flattering and agreeable. I shall gladly and gratefully undertake the task for which circumstances as well as, I hope, college training, have fitted me.” “I thank you with all my heart, Mr. Campbell. You have made everything smooth and pleasant for us,” heartily responded Ran. Judy caught the minister’s hand, pressed it between both hers, and so expressed her gratitude. Later all the details of the engagement were arranged between the minister and his pupils. On Ran’s pressing entreaty, Mr. Campbell consented to stay and dine with them that day. And it was during his visit that the evening mail brought them foreign letters from Cleve Stuart, with the news of his Uncle John Cleve’s death. “A good man gone to his rest,” was the comment of the clergyman. The news of death—even of the death of a stranger whom we only knew by report—always casts a shadow, for a longer or a shorter time, over the circle into which it is brought. Bright Judy was the first to smile and dispel the cloud. “And now, Mr. Campbell, it is so well that you have consented to take pity on us, for under present circumstances we could not leave Haymore,” she said. The minister raised his brows interrogatively. “Because we must write and ask our friends to come and spend the summer with us here.” “Ah! I understand,” said the rector. “Your patient lingers longer than any of us expected,” remarked Ran. “Yes,” replied Mr. Campbell, “his tenacity of life is really wonderful, poor soul!” And he arose and bade his hosts good-night. Gentleman Geff lay slowly sinking at the rectory of Haymore. The cold contracted on that fatal winter night of his attempted flight had settled on his lungs, and in the deeply inflamed condition of the whole system from alcoholism, had fastened with fatal tenacity upon his system.