Eve declined. But Miss Sabrina accepted both refreshments, and Mrs. Singleton bore her company. The wine was unspeakably bad, it would have been difficult to say what had entered into its composition; but Madeira had formed part of the old-time hospitality of the house, and something that was sold under that name (at a small country store on the mainland opposite) was still kept in the cut-glass decanter, to be served upon occasion. Presently a very tall, very portly, and very handsome old man (he well merited three verys) came in, leaning on a cane. "Miss Bruce--little Rupert; our dear little boy," said Mrs. Singleton, introducing him. She had intended to laugh, but she forgot it; she gazed at him admiringly. The master of the house put aside his cane, and looked about for a chair. As he stood there, helpless for an instant, he seemed gigantic. Eve laughed. Miss Sabrina murmured, "Pleasantry, dear Mr. Singleton;--our foolish pleasantry." After the old gentleman had found his chair and seated himself, and had drawn a breath or two, he gave a broad slow smile. "Nanny, are you in the habit of introducing me to your young lady friends as your dear little Rupert?--your little Rupe?" "Rupe? Never!" answered Mrs. Singleton, indignantly. "Only our foolish pleasantry," sighed Miss Sabrina, apologetically. "It was Cicely," Eve explained. "If it was Cicely, it was perfect," the lame colossus answered, gallantly. "Cicely is heavenly. Upon my word, she is the most engaging young person I have ever seen in my life." He then ate some plum-cake, and paid Eve compliments even more handsome than these. After a while he imparted the news; he had been down to the landing to meet the afternoon steamer, which brought tidings from the outside world. "Melton is dead," he said. "You know whom I mean? Melton, the great stockbroker; one of the richest men living, I suppose." "Oh! where is his soul _now_?" said Mrs. Singleton. Her emotion was real, her sweet face grew pallid. "Why, I have never heard that he was a bad man, especially," remarked Eve, surprised. "He was sure to be--making all that money; it could not be otherwise. Oh, what is his agony at this very moment!" But Rupert did not sympathize with this mournfulness; when three ladies were present, conversation should be light, poetical. "Miss Bruce," he said, turning towards Eve--he was so broad that that in itself made a landscape--"have you ever noticed the appropriateness of 'County Guy' to this neighborhood of ours?" "No," Eve answered. But the words brought her father to her mind with a rush: how often, when she was a child, had he beguiled a dull walk with a chant, half song, half declamation: "Oh, County Guy, the hour is nigh, The sun has left the lea." She looked at her host, but she did not hear him; a mist gathered in her eyes. "'Oh, County Guy, the hour is nigh,'" began the colossus, placing his plum-cake on his knee provisionally.