Henry saw no more of his mother or his sister that evening, which was a sorrowful one for him. He grieved alone in his room, comforted only by the butler Thomson, who came to visit him, and told him tales of his father’s boyhood and youth; and they grieved elsewhere, each according to her own nature. On the morrow the doctor called early and reported favourably of Henry’s condition. He told him that Joan was doing even better than he had expected, that she sent him her duty and thanked him kindly for his message, and with this Henry was fain to be content. Indeed, what other message could she have sent him, unless she had written? and something told him that she would not write. Any words that could be put on paper would express both too much and too little. Henry was not the only person at Rosham whose rest was troubled this night, seeing that Ellen also did not sleep well. She had loved her father in her own way and sorrowed for him, but she loved her family better than any individual member of it, and mourned still more bitterly for its sad fate. Also she had her own particular troubles to overcome, for she was well aware that Edward imagined her to possess the portion of eight thousand pounds which had been allotted to her under the will, and it was necessary that he should be undeceived and enlightened on various other points in connection with the Rosham affairs, which could no longer be concealed from him. On the morrow he rode over from Upcott, and very soon gave Ellen a chance of explanation, by congratulating her upon the prospective receipt of the eight thousand. Like a bold woman she took her opportunity at once, though she did not care about this task and had some fears for the issue. “Don’t congratulate me, Edward,” she said, “for I must tell you I have discovered that this eight thousand pounds is very much in the clouds.” Edward whistled. “Meaning——?” he said. “Meaning, my dear, that after you left the lawyer explained our financial position. To put it shortly, the entail has been cut, the estate has been mortgaged for more than its value, and there is not a farthing for anybody.” “Indeed!” answered Edward: “that’s jolly good news. Might I ask what is going to happen then?” “It all depends upon Henry. If he is not a fool, and marries Miss Levinger, everything will come right, except my eight thousand pounds of course, for she holds the mortgages, or her father does for her. If he _is_ a fool—which I have reason to believe is the case—and declines to marry Miss Levinger, then I suppose that the estate will be made bankrupt and that my mother will be left to starve.” At this announcement Edward uttered an indignant grunt.