‘Nay, sir,’ said the lad, gently breaking silence for the first time, ‘it is yours, not mine. My pleasure in acquiring it—for, to say truth, it cost me nothing—would all be lost if you refused to accept it.’ ‘What, as a gift? No, my boy, that is impossible. I don’t mean that you must take cash for it,’ for William Henry looked both abashed and disturbed, ‘but something that will at least show you that I am not ungrateful.’ For one wild instant the young man believed that, like a stage father, Mr. Erin was about to place Margaret’s hand in his and dower them with his blessing, but he only walked to his bookcase, and took from the shelf, where it had just been reverently laid, ‘Stokes, the Vaulting Master,’ and pushed it into his hands. ‘But, sir, you have not heard how I gained possession of the deed,’ exclaimed the astonished recipient of this treasure. ‘To-morrow, to-morrow,’ answered the antiquary as he left the room with the document hugged to his heart; ‘to-morrow will be time enough for details.’ In his heart of hearts he feared lest there should be some flaw in the young man’s story which might throw discredit upon the genuineness of his discovery: and, for that night at least, he wished to enjoy his acquisition without the shadow of a doubt. CHAPTER VIII. HOW TO GET RID OF A COMPANY. WHEN Mr. Erin had closed the door behind him there was silence among those he had left; Dennis and Margaret naturally looked to William Henry for an explanation of so singular a scene, but he only turned over the leaves of ‘Stokes, the Vaulting Master,’ with an amused expression of countenance. ‘This reminds me,’ he observed presently, ‘of what one of Mr. Bingley’s female clients did the other day. She had a favourite cat, which one of her toadies used to extol in order to curry favour with her; and when she died she left him _that_, as being the richest legacy she could think of; her mere money went to a hospital.’ Margaret gave him a look which seemed to reproach him for his frivolity, and Dennis remarked gravely enough, ‘I do hope there is no mistake about that deed of yours, my lad; for I am afraid it would be a terrible blow to your father.’ ‘Deed of mine!’ exclaimed the young man indignantly. ‘How on earth can I tell whether it is genuine or not?’ ‘That is very true,’ said Margaret, ‘how can he? We must hope for the best. Now tell us where you found it, Willie, and all about it.’ ‘Well, it’s a queer story, I promise you, and I can only give you my word of honour for the truth of it.’ ‘I should hope that would be enough,’ said Margaret confidently. ‘It will be enough for you, Maggie,’ said the young man quietly, ‘but I am very doubtful whether it will be sufficient for others, since even to myself it would still seem like a dream save for the documentary evidence. If that is right, as Mr. Erin seems to think, all is right.’ ‘And for that you are not responsible,’ put in Margaret eagerly.