Day followed day: the new transfer had been duly executed; John Benton was legal owner of Grange. Every day the Squire listened eagerly for all news of him, always dreading what he should hear; but the labourer went on in his new dignity--a fish out of water, awkward and sheepish, but always with a determination to preserve the property, under the advice and assistance of Mr. Pergamen, for the Squire. The labourer's wife kept the same end sturdily in view, and her children played with much content on the smooth lawns. All the while, though with diminishing hope and eagerness, the Squire kept up his search for that something, never saying a word of it to a soul, but catching at any little chance scrap of information likely to assist him. He would call at the cottages and, whenever the opportunity occurred, surreptitiously peep and pry into drawers and cupboards--in vain. [Illustration: "THE LABOURER'S WIFE AND CHILDREN."] After a few weeks he would take little Rupert by the hand, and they would stand and gaze over the railings at the small Bentons playing on the lawn; and the little Bentons would pull their forelocks, and curtsey, and open the gate and beg them to come in. Then Rupert would play with them a little, and was allowed to. Finally Mrs. Benton came as a deputation from her husband to beg the Squire to live in his own rooms in the house; but the Squire hastily, and rather incoherently, excused himself. Still things went on quietly: and one evening the Squire consented to occupy his old bedroom for the night, and his study for the next day; and then he found himself staying in the house. But every time Benton touched his hair to him, or Mrs. Benton dropped him a curtsey, he would look round for Rupert and take him up, and protest that he was not master there, nor Master Rupert either, and look anxious and nervous. And one day he drew Mr. Pergamen, as he passed, into the study, and closed the door, and said: "I may as well tell you now. It is lost and gone beyond hope. Perhaps the spell is broken--by the--the death of that unfortunate John Puddifoot--" "_The spell?_" repeated the solicitor, staring dubiously at him. "Yes--the spell," said the Squire. "You will put me down as a superstitious lunatic when you hear what I have to say. "Well, do so. You did not know of the existence of a talisman--a charm--call it what you will--in my family? No. Nor has anyone ever known of it except the successive owners of Grange and their heirs; yet this charm has been handed down (and the tradition connected with it) from father to heir without a break since the time of James the First.