What was it all--what was it? The glasses seemed to quiver and shake, throwing dancing flecks of light; and the wine in them--why did it make him think of blood? Were they dead then--all three--his two cousins and his brother--dead? Shot! Killed in a bloody and useless war! He was confounded, and bowing his head in his hands sat thus--his elbows on his knees--waiting, hearing, but not comprehending. He could think only of his mother. He saw her face, aged and grief-stricken. He knew how she loved the boy she had lost, above all, and now she must turn to himself. He sat thus while the lawyer read a lengthy document, and at the end personally addressed him. Then he lifted his head. "What is this? My uncle? My uncle gone, too? Do you mean dead? My uncle dead, and I--I his heir?" The lawyer replied formally, "You are now the head of a most ancient and honorable house. You will have the dignity of the old name to maintain, and are called upon to return to your fatherland and occupy the home of your ancestors." He took up one of the papers and adjusted his monocle. For a time David did not speak. At last he rose and, with head erect, extended his hand to the lawyer. "I thank you, sir, for your trouble,--but now, Doctor, shall we return to your house? I must take a little time to adjust my mind to these terrible events. It is like being overtaken with an avalanche at the moment when all is most smiling and perfect." The lawyer began a few congratulatory remarks, but David stopped him, with uplifted hand. "It is calamitous. It is too terrible," he said sadly. "And what it brings may be far more of a burden than a joy." "But the name, my lord,--the ancient and honorable lineage!" "That last was already mine, and for the title--I have never coveted it, far less all that it entails. I must think it over." "But, my lord, it is yours! You can't help yourself, you know; a--the--the position is yours, and you will a--fill it with dignity, and--a--let me hope will follow the conservative policy of your honored uncle." "And I say I must think it over. May I not have a day--a single day--in which to mourn the loss of my splendid brother? Would God he had lived to fill this place!" he said desperately. The lawyer bowed deferentially, and Doctor Hoyle took David's arm and led him away as if he were his son. Not a word was spoken by either of them until they were again in the doctor's office. There lay the new silk hat, as he had tossed it one side. He took it up and turned it about in his hand. "You see, David, an old hat is like an old friend, and it takes some time to get wonted to a new one." He gravely laid the old one within easy reach of his arm and restored the new one to its box. Then he sat himself near David and placed his hand kindly on his knee. "You--you have your work laid out for you, my young friend. It's the way in Old England. The stability of our society--our national life demands it." "I know." "You must go to your mother."