“Sir Nigel, you are going? Don’t leave us behind, Mary and me. Now we have lost our dear lady, we cannot stay here. Already there are changes. We shall not be wanted. We know too much about our lady’s ways and wishes. Pipes in the Oak Room she never did allow, nor whisky and soda in the morning. Her ladyship’s last word to me was: ‘If possible, go with Sir Nigel, Thomas, you and Mary. You know his ways, and I would like to feel Mary was there to do his mending and airing, and see that he has properly cooked meals.’ Our dear lady has left an annuity of two hundred a year between us, and we have our savings, and no encumbrances, thank God. It isn’t a question of wages; it’s a question of home, and the Fam’ly—boy and man, Sir Nigel, for over fifty years.” He paused for breath and a pocket-handkerchief. “Your pardon, Sir Nigel.” He wiped the tears from his furrowed cheeks. “Boy and man, Sir Nigel, for half a century. I ran beside your pony, sir, as you may remember.” “I don’t remember, Thomas; but _She_ did; and I have no doubt you do.” He considered. Was it really Her wish? He thought of the thousand pounds in bank notes in the despatch-box at the inn. “Of course you shall come, old friend; and Mary with you. But I have no home, as yet. We must make one together. I am going south by the express. Could you be happy in London? I will find a cosy flat. As soon as I have found it, I will send for you and Mary.” The old man blew his nose. “Beg pardon, Sir Nigel.” His relief was pathetic. “We felt if we lost you again, we lost all. It isn’t a matter of money. It’s service, and our lady’s wishes, and love of you, Sir Nigel. Boy and man——” “Right. Tell Mary the thing’s settled. I’m off in an hour, Thomas. I don’t want any awkward questions.” “True, Sir Nigel. The doctor wanted to know why you had left the house before the new master and mistress arrived. He had counted on you to give them full particulars of our lady’s last hours. He has been hindered from coming over until to-day, by a very serious case. As I say to Mary, there are always dispensations! But he has gone down to the house now. And you were noticed at the grave. There will be talk in every home by nightfall. Douglas saw you, and Fergusson and old Nannie Steer. You remember them, Sir Nigel?” No. The sub-conscious well was rapidly growing deeper, its memories more elusive. Douglas, Fergusson, old Nannie Steer, conveyed nothing to him. Only his Treasure in the heavens was inalienably his own. But he began to realise how largely his sub-consciousness had drawn from hers. With her departure from this earthly setting, all its memories were fading into dream-like vagueness. “To see you standing at the grave, Sir Nigel, looking down at _that_ coffin! It was like the Judgment Day. It made my blood run cold; and Mary well-nigh swooned.”