The bewildering rapidity of the shocks he had received had stunned him--he could not feel the pain now. There was a dull sense of aching torture over him from head to foot--but the acute edge was dulled; he walked along through the black night like a man drugged and stupefied. He was only conscious intensely of one thing--a wish to get away, never to set foot in St. Gosport again. Like one walking in his sleep, he reached Thetford Towers, his old home, every tree and stone of which was dear to him. He entered at once, passed into the drawing-room, and found Guy, the artist, sitting before the fire staring blankly into the coals, and May Everard roaming restlessly up and down, the firelight falling dully on her black robes and pale, tear-stained face. Both started at his entrance--all wet, and wild, and haggard; but neither spoke. There was that in his face which froze the words on their lips. "I am going away to-morrow," he said, abruptly, leaning against the mantle, and looking at them with weird, spectral eyes. May uttered a faint cry; Guy faced him almost fiercely. "Going away! What do you mean, Sir Rupert? We are going away together, if you like." "No; I go alone. You remain here; it is your place now." "Never!" cried the young artist--"never! I will go out and die like a dog, in a ditch, before I rob you of your birthright!" "You reverse matters," said Rupert Thetford; "it is I who have robbed you, unwittingly, for too many years. I promised my mother on her death-bed, as she promised my father on his, that you should have your right, and I will keep that promise. Guy, dear old fellow! don't let us quarrel, now that we are brothers, after being friends so long. Take what is your own; the world is all before me, and surely I am man enough to win my own way. Not one other word; you shall not come with me; you might as well talk to these stone walls and try to move them as to me. To-morrow I go, and go alone." "Alone!" It was May who breathlessly repeated the word. "Alone! All the ties that bound me here are broken; I go alone and single-handed to fight the battle of life. Guy, I have spoken to the rector about you--you will find him your friend and aider; and May is to make her home at the rectory. And now," turning suddenly and moving to the door, "as I start early to-morrow, I believe I'll retire early. Good-night." And then he was gone, and Guy and May were left staring at each other with blank faces. The storm of wind and rain sobbed itself out before midnight, and in the bluest of skies, heralded by banners of rosy clouds, rose up the sun next morning. Before that rising sun had gilded the tops of the tallest oaks in the park he, who had so lately called it all his own, had opened the heavy oaken door and passed from Thetford Towers, as home, forever. The house was very still--no one had risen; he had left a note to Guy, with a few brief, warm words of farewell.