He found the table in the spacious old parlour laid for tea, and drawn into one of the open windows. Lucille had contrived, even with her small means, to give a look of grace to the humble meal. There were a few freshly-cut flowers in a Venetian goblet, and some fruit in an old Derby dish; the brown loaf and butter and glass jar of marmalade had a fresher and daintier look than anything Mrs. Babb the charwoman ever set before her master. Lucius thought of the fair surroundings that wealth could buy for the girl he loved; thought how easy their lives would be if he were only rich enough to give her the home he dreamed of, if there were no question of waiting and patience. True that he might give her some kind of home—a home in the Shadrack district—at once, but was it such a shelter as he would care to offer to his fair young bride? Would it not be a dreary beginning of wedded life? Yes, Mr. Sivewright’s hoarded wealth might give them much, but could he, Lucius, as an honest man, feel any satisfaction in the possession of a fortune gained in such crooked ways as the miser treads in his ruthless pursuit of gold? He tried to put all thought of that possible wealth out of his mind. That way lay temptation, perhaps dishonour; for in his mind it was impossible to disassociate the miser’s wealth from the means by which it had been amassed. Lucille had the same pale troubled look which had alarmed him on the previous evening, but this he ascribed to a natural anxiety about her grandfather. He did his best to cheer her, as they drank tea together at the little table by the open window, ministered to by the devoted Wincher, whose bonnet hovered about them throughout the simple meal. ‘She’s fidgety about the old gentleman, poor child,’ said Mrs. Wincher. ‘I’m sure she’s been up and down that blessed old staircase twenty times to-day, that restless she couldn’t settle to nothink. And he is a bit cranky I’ll allow, not knowing his own mind about anythink, and grumbling about as beautiful a basin of broth as was ever sent up to a ninvalid. But sickness is sickness, as I tell our missy, and she mustn’t be surprised if sick folks is contrairy.’ When Mrs. Wincher had departed with the teatray, Lucius told Lucille of the search he had undertaken for Mr. Sivewright. ‘My grandfather told me about it,’ she said. ‘I am to show you the cabinet in the loft. He would have sent me up to fetch the papers alone, he said, only there is so much lumber crowded together that he doubted if I should be able to get at the cabinet. We had better go at once before the light begins to fade, for it is rather dark up there.’ ‘I am ready, dear.’