“It’s over, as I gathered. ‘Twas a London letter, and it came by the afternoon post. All the poor master’s hopes and dependencies for years have been wrested from him. And if they’d give me my way, I’d prosecute them postmen for bringing such ill luck to a body’s door.” Charles stood something like a statue, the bright, sensitive colour deserting his cheek. One of those causes, Might _versus_ Right, of which there are so many in the world, had been pending in the Channing family for years and years. It included a considerable amount of money, which ought, long ago, to have devolved peaceably to Mr. Channing; but Might was against him, and Might threw it into Chancery. The decision of the Vice-Chancellor had been given for Mr. Channing, upon which Might, in his overbearing power, carried it to a higher tribunal. Possibly the final decision, from which there could be no appeal, had now come. “Judith,” Charles asked, after a pause, “did you hear whether--whether the letter--I mean the news--had anything to do with the Lord Chancellor?” “Oh, bother the Lord Chancellor!” was Judith’s response. “It had to do with somebody that’s an enemy to your poor papa. I know that much. Who’s this?” The hall door had opened, and Judith and Charles turned towards it. A gay, bright-featured young man of three and twenty entered, tall and handsome, as it was in the nature of the Channings to be. He was the eldest son of the family, James; or, as he was invariably styled, Hamish. He rose six foot two in his stockings, was well made, and upright. In grace and strength of frame the Yorkes and the Channings stood A1 in Helstonleigh. “Now, then! What are you two concocting? Is he coming over you again to let him make more toffy, Judy, and burn out the bottom of another saucepan?” “Hamish, Judy says there’s bad news come in by the London post. I am afraid the Lord Chancellor has given judgment--given it against us.” The careless smile, the half-mocking, expression left the lips of Hamish. He glanced from Judith to Charles, from Charles to Judith. “Is it sure?” he breathed. “It’s sure that it’s awful news of some sort,” returned Judith; “and the mistress said to me that all was over now. They be all in there, but you two,” pointing with her finger to the parlour on the left of the hall; “and you had better go in to them. Master Hamish--” “Well?” returned Hamish, in a tone of abstraction. “You must every one of you just make the best of it, and comfort the poor master. You are young and strong; while he--you know what _he_ is. You, in special, Master Hamish, for you’re the eldest born, and were the first of ‘em that I ever nursed upon my knee.” “Of course--of course,” he hastily replied. “But, oh, Judith! you don’t know half the ill this must bring upon us! Come along, Charley; let us hear the worst.”