"'SIR,--I am requested by Mr. Richard Woodroffe to inform you that your father, Mr. John Anthony Woodroffe, has died in debt to a certain Mrs. Welwood, widow of a grocer, of Lisson Grove. The amount is about £60. He wishes to know whether you are prepared to join him in paying off the liability. Your obedient servants.' "I hope he will like that," said Dick. "And here is the advertisement-- "'Died. On Tuesday, the 13th, at the Marylebone Workhouse Infirmary, John Anthony Woodroffe, father of Sir Humphrey Woodroffe, baronet, aged 55.' "I hope he will like that." "There is something more for you," said Molly. "Lady Woodroffe confesses. There is the paper." "Confesses?" Dick snatched the paper, and read it through with a hunter's sense of disappointment. "Well," he said, "I thought better of her. I thought she would die game. Never trust appearances. Well, this changes these matters. Instead of sending the letters and the advertisement, I shall now go myself with the case and the confession, and bring him to his----" "No, Dick," said Molly. "There is to be no shame for him, and no humiliation." "_What?_" "No shame for him at all. He is to be left in ignorance unless he has guessed anything. We shall tell him nothing. All will go on as before." "Oh, Molly! have we given in? With victory assured? Don't say that!" "You don't understand, Dick. Everything is changed. It is now Lady Woodroffe who would spare him nothing. It is his mother who would save him from everything." Dick looked at the pale woman lying on the sofa. Then he understood, and a tear stood in his eye. 'Twas a tender heart. He went over to the sofa and kissed her forehead. "Forgive me," he said. "Oh, Dick!" she murmured. "Would to God you were my son! As for him, he is what they have made him." * * * * * They had made him grumpy and obstinate. At that moment the doctor was urging upon him compliance with a simple thing. "You want me to go to the rooms of the gardener man who insulted me? I am to listen to some rubbish about his wife. What do I care about his wife? I tell you, Sir Robert, this is trifling. I won't go, there; tell them so. I won't go." "Then, Sir Humphrey, I tell you plainly, Ruin stares you in the face. Yes; the loss of everything in this world that you value--everything. You will lose all. I cannot explain what this means. But you will have letters to-morrow which will change your whole life--and all your thoughts. They mean, I say, the loss of everything that you value." "I don't believe a word----" "You wanted to know what Mr. Haveril meant, what your mother meant, what Miss Molly Pennefather meant. They meant Ruin--Ruin, and loss of everything, Sir Humphrey--that and nothing else." "Tell me more. Tell me why." "I shall tell you no more. I shall leave it to your--to Richard Woodroffe, whom you love so well. He will tell you."