Lord St. Austell looked up in pain and amazement. But Rees had left him, and was speeding back towards Carstow. The earl’s face grew very grave as he asked himself what miracle could have wrought such a hideous change in the frank, generous-spirited lad. In the meantime, Rees reached the little town, still in a tempest of passion. He called in at the library; Goodhare was out. He hurried home, dashed through the garden, and into the house by one of the back windows, without noticing that there seemed to be an unusual silence and stillness about the place. A servant whom he met ran out of his way, as if afraid to meet him. Deborah burst out crying at sight of him, and tried to detain him at the foot of the stairs. But she could not speak, and after waiting by her side impatiently for a few seconds, Rees gently pushed her aside, and mounted the staircase to his mother’s room. With her he was sure of sympathy, no matter what he had done; no matter, too, how much in the wrong he might be. He burst open the door, and dashed into the room. Mrs. Pennant was there, but she was not sitting as usual, knitting in her low armchair by the window. She had his father’s desk on her knees, and was busy, with Godwin, reading over the papers it contained. Her eyes were red with crying, but her face wore a set, stern expression of responsibility and anxiety. Godwin also looked sad and anxious. Both mother and son started at his abrupt entrance, and the former, holding out her arms towards him, tried to smile as she asked him where he had been. “To meet Lord St. Austell,” answered Rees, bewildered by the strange reception he met with from every one. “And what do you think, mother, he presumed to offer me?” “I don’t know, my dear boy,” said Mrs. Pennant, caressing his curly head with a trembling hand. “He wanted me to become his steward--his land steward. What do you think of that?” Godwin sprang up from the seat by his mother’s side. “For heaven’s sake, Rees, don’t tell us you were such a fool as to refuse?” “I did refuse, of course. It is not for me, the prospective head of the Pennant family, to become the paid dependent of any man.” “Well, it’s better than being a pauper, head of the family or not. And that’s what mother and I have just discovered you to be.” Mrs. Pennant’s tears began to flow again. “He is right, Rees, I am afraid,” said she, in a sad, low voice. “Your father never would let us know the real state of his affairs, and we have just found out enough to make us fear that we are absolutely ruined.” Rees looked from one face to the other in utter bewilderment. His mother drew his head tenderly to her breast. “Your poor father, Rees, fell down dead in the drawing-room two hours ago.”