"Look at the Hall and not at me while I tell you. It is this--now listen and do not turn from it for an instant. Blake Hall--I have just found it out--will come to me at grandfather's death, and when it does--when it does I shall return it to your family--the whole of it, every lovely acre. Oh, don't look at me--look at the Hall!" But he looked neither at her nor at the Hall, for his gaze dropped to the ground and hung blankly upon a clod of dry brown earth. She saw him grow pale to the lips and dark blue circles come out slowly about his eyes. "It is but common justice; you see that," she urged. At this he raised his head and returned her look. "And what of Will?" he asked. Her surprise showed in her face, and at sight of it he repeated his question with a stubborn insistence: "But what of Will? What has been done for Will?" "Oh, I don't know; I don't know. The break is past mending. But it is not of him that I must speak to you now--it is of yourself. Don't you see that the terrible injustice has bowed me to the earth? What am I better than a dependent--a charity ward who has lived for years upon your money? My very education, my little culture, the refinements you see in me--these even I have no real right to, for they belong to your family. While you have worked as a labourer in the field I have been busy squandering the wealth which was not mine." His face grew gentle as he looked at her. "If the Blake money has made you what you are, then it has not been utterly wasted," he replied. "Oh, you don't understand--you don't understand," she repeated, pressing her hands upon her bosom, as if to quiet her fluttering breath. "You have suffered from it all along, but it is I who suffer most to-day--who suffer most because I am upon the side of the injustice. I can have no peace until you tell me that I may still do my poor best to make amends--that when your home is mine you will let me give it back to you." "It is too late," he answered with bitter humour. "You can't put a field-hand in a fine house and make him a gentleman. It is too late to undo what was done twenty years ago. The place can never be mine again--I have even ceased to want it. Give it to Will." "I couldn't if I wanted to," she replied; "but I don't want to--I don't want to. It must go back to you and to your sisters. Do you think I could ever be owner of it now? Even if it comes to me when I am an old woman, I shall always feel myself a stranger in the house, though I should live there day and night for fifty years. No, no; it is impossible that I should ever keep it for an instant. It must go back to you and to the Blakes who come after you." "There will be no Blakes after me," he answered. "I am the last." "Then promise me that if the Hall is ever mine you will take it."