"Then you see Charles need not starve while waiting for briefs to come in to him. Do you _not_ see that, Mr. Serjeant?" "I see it very clearly," he mildly said. "Had Charles his three hundred a year to fall back upon, he might have gone to the Bar had he liked, and risked the future." "But he has it," Mrs. Carlen rejoined, surprise in her tone. "No, madam, he has it not. Nor two hundred a year, nor one hundred." They silently looked at one another for a full minute. Mrs. Carlen evidently could not understand his meaning. I am sure I did not. "Charles's money, I am sorry to say, is lost," he continued. "Lost! Since when?" "Since the bank-panic that we had nearly two years ago." Mrs. Carlen collapsed. "Oh, dear!" she breathed. "Did you--pray forgive the question, Mr. Serjeant--did you lose it? Or--or--the other trustee?" He shook his head. "No, no. We neither lost it, nor are we responsible for the loss. Charles's grandfather, my brother, invested the money, six thousand pounds, in bank debentures to bring in five per cent. He settled the money upon his daughter, Lucy, and upon her children after her, making myself and our old friend, George Wickham, trustees. In the panic of two years ago this bank _went_; its shares and its debentures became all but worthless." "Is the money all gone? quite gone?" gasped Mrs. Carlen. "Will it never be recovered?" "The debentures are Charles's still, but they are for the present almost worthless," he replied. "The bank went on again, and if it can recover itself and regain prosperity, Charles in the end may not greatly suffer. He may regain his money, or part of it. But it will not be yet awhile. The unused portion of the income had been sunk, year by year, in further debentures, in accordance with the directions of the will. All went." "But--someone must have paid for Charles all this time--two whole years!" she reiterated, in vexed surprise. "Yes! it has been managed," he gently said. "I think you must have paid for him yourself," spoke Mrs. Carlen with impulse. "I think it is you who are intending to pay the premium to Mr. Brightman, and to provide for his future expenses? You are a good man, Mr. Serjeant Stillingfar!" His face broke into a smile: the rare sweet smile which so seldom crossed it. "I am only lending it to him. Charley will repay me when he is a rich man. But you see now, Mrs. Carlen, why a certainty will be better for him than an uncertainty." We saw it all too clearly, and there was no more remonstrance to be made. Mrs. Carlen rose to leave, just as Mr. Jones came bustling into the room. "Time is up, sir," he said to his master. "The Court will be waiting." "Ah, so: is it? Good-morning, madam," he added, politely dismissing her. "I shall send for you here again in a day or two, Charles." "Thank you for what you are doing for me, Uncle Charles," I whispered. "It is very kind of you."