“Most of ’em want their rents reducing, instead of raising. I expect I shall have to go into matters of that sort myself—perhaps we can put our heads together.” “Ah, but you aren’t dependent on your farm rents!” said Valencia with a knowing look. “You’ve got town property. You see what a knowing young woman I am! All we’ve got is rent from our farms—and we landed folk are doomed: we aren’t as well off as the people we let our land to. If Harry and I could do what we’d like, we’d sell, and be done with it.” “A good way—sometimes,” said Harborough. “Why not?” The brother and sister looked at each other. “It’s entailed,” said Valencia. She glanced at Harborough with meaning in her eyes, and Harborough nodded. “Just so,” he remarked. “But—that could be got over if—if your elder brother was agreeable.” Once more the other two exchanged glances. “We don’t know where Guy is,” said Harry. “Nobody does—at least, nobody that we know. He’s never been heard of for—I think it’s nearly seven years.” “It is seven years,” remarked Valencia. “I remember.” She looked again at Harborough. “He went away, suddenly, just before you did,” she added. “And that’s seven years ago.” Harborough moved a little uneasily in his chair. He had no wish to be drawn into discussion of the Markenmore family secrets. But he felt a certain curiosity. “Do you mean that—literally?” he asked. “Absolutely!” replied Valencia. “None of us—and no one connected with us—have heard a word of him since then.” “But—money matters?” suggested Harborough. “He’d want money. Has he never applied for any?—some allowance, for instance?” “He’d money of his own,” said Harry. “His mother’s money all came to him at her death. No—it’s as Val says, we’ve never heard anything of him since he left Markenmore, and we don’t know where he is. I wish we did!—my father can’t last long.” Harborough rose from his chair. “Well, I must go,” he said. “You’ll be sure to let me know if there’s anything I can do? But you say Sir Anthony’s not in immediate danger?” “Not immediate,” replied Harry. “But—any time. And, as he’s fidgety about not being left, you’ll excuse me if I go back to him? If he seems a bit stronger tomorrow, I’ll tell him you’re home again, and no doubt you can see him when you look in. You’ll come again soon?” “Surely!” said Harborough. He walked into the hall with Valencia when Harry had gone, and once more gave her an admonitory look. “You’ll not forget to send for me if I can ever give any help?” he continued. “I’m not to be treated as a mere neighbour, you know—now that I’m back!” “I’ll not forget,” she answered. She glanced round: at the far end of the shadow-laden hall Braxfield was just appearing, key in hand; she motioned Harborough aside. “There’s something I want to ask you,” she whispered. “Have you any idea why my brother Guy left home, and why he’s never returned? You!—yourself?”